


The Boy Who Existed - Book Three

by viceroy_of_the_verse (gay_caesar)



Series: The Boy Who Existed [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Dubious Morality, F/F, F/M, Graphic Description, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry-centric, M/M, Malfoy Family, Manipulation, Moral Dilemmas, Morally Ambiguous Character, Morally Grey Harry, Multi, Of Mud, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Politics, Pureblood Society, Purebloods, Slurs, Slytherin Harry, Studying, Uncomfortable Friendship/Relationship Boundaries, Underage Relationship(s), Worldbuilding, muggle-born discrimination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 65,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_caesar/pseuds/viceroy_of_the_verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Charlus, do you know why the Minister of Magic allowed Lucius and I to become your guardians?" Lady Malfoy asked him, one he had finally sipped at his tea.  </p><p>Harry had quite a few ideas, but he wasn't about to accuse Narcissa Malfoy of bribing a public official. At least, not to her face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Price To Be Paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living with the Malfoys was everything Harry had ever dreamed it would be. Draco was a prat, but he was Harry's prat. Draco's father was cold and calculating, Lady Malfoy was insistent that Harry become more familiar with her, and the house elves (except Dobby, who absolutely hated Harry for covering for Lord Malfoy), all tripped over themselves to get Harry anything he would like.
> 
> Of course, because he was Harry, and Harry could never just have a pleasant summer, it took a sharp turn for the bizarre on the fourth day of Harry's stay at Malfoy Manor.

CHAPTER ONE: THE PRICE TO BE PAID

 

For the first few days of Charlus 'Harry' Potter's summer, everything went just as he thought it would.

**  
**

Harry would spend his mornings in the libraries of Malfoy Manor, working on his summer homework, and reading up on his electives. Harry had eventually decided upon Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and, against his better judgment, Care of Magical Creatures. Harry was perfectly happy taking care of his cat, Circe, and had no interest in taking care of anything else, given what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets.

**  
**

Draco Malfoy, however, Harry's best friend, had decided to take the class, as an easy O, and had roped Harry into coming with him.

**  
**

As it were, Harry had full reign of the libraries until Draco woke up, at around ten o'clock in the morning, at which time they would join Draco's parents, Lord and Lady Malfoy, in the dining room.

**  
**

Narcissa Malfoy would always have the House Elves prepare separate breakfasts for the four of them, and Lucius Malfoy would have the Daily Prophet delivered to him in the dining room.

**  
**

The headlines didn't change very much. For months, the Daily Prophet had been full of speculation on where the recently resurrected Lord Voldemort had gone, and it hadn't changed at all by the first week of June.

**  
**

After breakfast, Draco would insist that they go flying, which mainly consisted of Draco trying out new moves from a book he'd gotten during the Yuletide, and Harry trying not to look down. It wasn't that Harry was bad at flying; in fact, Harry was rather competent on a broomstick. Harry, however, had spent most of his childhood being pushed around, never in control if what he could do, and flying, which required turning over a fair amount of control to a charmed piece of cleaning equipment, stepped firmly out of Harry's newly established comfort zone.

**  
**

Draco, however, could be scarcely pulled from the sky, which resulted in afternoons full of Harry clinging to his broomstick for dear life, while trying to look perfectly at ease. Harry was certain he didn't pull it off very well.

**  
**

Then, of course, Draco would drag Harry back inside, so they could have lunch, which, to Draco's great displeasure, was pheasant two days in a row. Harry, who had grown up on a diet of mostly toast and tap water, wasn't complaining, but he knew better than to pick a fight with Draco. The third day, they had roast prime rib, a change that Harry did not mention.

**  
**

Living with the Malfoys was everything Harry had ever dreamed it would be. Draco was a prat, but he was Harry's prat. Draco's father was cold and calculating, Lady Malfoy was insistent that Harry become more familiar with her, and the house elves (except Dobby, who absolutely hated Harry for covering for Lord Malfoy), all tripped over themselves to get Harry anything he would like.

**  
**

Of course, because he was Harry, and Harry could never just have a pleasant summer, it took a sharp turn for the bizarre on the fourth day of Harry's stay at Malfoy Manor.

**  
**

Harry had made his way into the library that morning, as he had the other three days he had been staying in Malfoy Manor, only to find Narcissa Malfoy sitting on one of the ornate couches.

**  
**

"Good morning, Charlus." Lady Malfoy said with a smile.

**  
**

"...Good morning, Narcissa." Harry replied, although his chest felt tight.

**  
**

If Lady Malfoy had been waiting for him, he must have done something to disappoint her or Lord Malfoy, and if she hadn't been waiting for him, Harry had intruded on some very odd ritual of Lady Malfoy’s.

**  
**

She nodded her head towards the empty seat next to her, and said, "Please, have a seat."

**  
**

Lady Malfoy waited until Harry had tentatively taken a seat next to her, then snapped her fingers for a house elf.

**  
**

"How can Missy be serving Mistress?" The elf asked, with a low bow, when she appeared.

**  
**

"You may bring us two cups of tea." Lady Malfoy waved her hand at the elf, and she vanished again.

**  
**

They sat there, Lady Malfoy calm and composed, and Harry trying not to squirm until the house elf returned.

**  
**

"Is there anything else Missy can be doing for Mistress?" The elf asked, her ears quivering.

**  
**

"That will be all, Missy." Lady Malfoy dismissed her with another wave of her hand.

**  
**

Once the elf was gone, she picked up her teaspoon with an elegant flick of her wrist, stirred her tea clockwise, and took a sip.

“A consort,” she said, “must never thank their house elves.”

**  
**

At Harry’s confused look, she explained, “ I know Draco must have told you that little anecdote of Lucius’, but it is not proper for a consort to thank their house elves. A Lord or Lady may do so only because it is not their job to command and oversee them as they do the housework. If a consort were to thank them, they would become lazy and useless. Always remember that.”

**  
**

For a moment, Lady Malfoy simply sipped her tea, as though they were simply having breakfast.

**  
**

"Charlus, do you know why the Minister of Magic allowed Lucius and I to become your guardians?" Lady Malfoy asked him, one he had finally sipped at his tea.  

**  
**

Harry had quite a few ideas, but he wasn't about to accuse Narcissa Malfoy of bribing a public official. At least, not to her face. "Minister Fudge seemed to admire Lord Malfoy quite a bit," Harry said, then busied himself with his tea again.

**  
**

Lady Malfoy looked as though she might have chuckled if she were not a proper pureblood witch. Instead, she smiled at him from the rim of her teacup. "That was part of it, I'm sure. It wouldn't be correct, however, to say that the Minister's favor was the sole motivating factor."

**  
**

Lady Malfoy paused and locked the doors to the library with a flick of her wand. "As you know, Charlus, you are the last living member of the House of Potter. As such, it shall be your duty to carry on your family line, in whatever fashion you choose to."

**  
**

By which, of course, Lady Malfoy meant whatever fashion would be politically appropriate, and whatever fashion would advance the Malfoy's position.

**  
**

"A few members of the Wizengamot, upon learning that you were living with Muggles, were worried that, upon reaching adulthood, you would be ill-prepared for marriage and for controlling your family's numerous seats within the Wizengamot." Lady Malfoy continued, setting aside her cup. "They feel as though, perhaps, given the rather sordid end of House Potter, and it's rather strange history, it may be better if it were to be absorbed by a larger, more influential family."

**  
**

Harry didn't particularly like the sound of that. He had read about the Wizengamot giving one house's seats to another, but the last case of that actually happening was in sixteen ninety-seven, when the heir to a dying house murdered his entire family. Surely, Harry's father marrying a mudblood wasn't as bad as murdering thirty-seven witches and wizards?

**  
**

"Absorbed?" Harry asked, dread forming like a lump of lead in the bottom of his stomach.

**  
**

"Of course. After all, who would associate the disgraced House Potter with the consort of a prominent house?" She asked.

**  
**

"I, of course, understand that you're a bit young to be thinking of such things, but such a well-suited match rarely presents itself, and we should dread to have you married to an absolute stranger. Of course, when we explained to them just how fond you and Draco are of each other, the Wizengamot was perfectly happy to allow you to stay with us, so long as you and Draco were engaged immediately." Lady Malfoy told him.

**  
**

The imaginary lump in Harry's stomach did a strange sort of flip-flop, and if Harry had eaten anything, it would have come straight up. Small mercies, Harry was spared from vomiting in front of at least one of Draco's parents.

**  
**

"All they need is your signature, and you'll be able to live here permanently." Lady Malfoy slid a thick sheaf of parchment across the table, filled from margin to margin with spidery handwriting.

**  
**

It seemed that the price-tag on Harry's freedom was a bit higher than he had expected.

**  
**

Harry placed his teacup down on the table and took a deep breath. He raised his head, and asked, "Do you think I could have a few minutes to... think it over?"

**  
**

Narcissa Malfoy gave him the strangest smile he had ever seen, and with a flick of her wand, unlocked the door. "Of course. Why don't you take a walk through the rose gardens? They're rather lovely in June."

**  
**

Harry gave her a curt jerk of his head and made his way to the door of the library.

**  
**

"Oh, and Charlus, I think you would find it in your best interests not to see Draco until you've made your decision. He's rather fond of the idea." Lady Malfoy gave him another of her strange smiles, gathered up the skirts of her robe, and swept from the room.

**  
**

Harry slowly followed after her, then made his way outside.

**  
**

Once Harry had found one of the stone benches located in the Malfoy's flower maze, he gratefully sank down.

**  
**

The Malfoys wanted Harry to marry their son. The Malfoys wanted Harry to marry Draco. Draco wanted Harry to marry Draco.

**  
**

Harry really should have expected it, but the fact of the matter was that he hadn't. He felt a bit as though Dudley Dursley had punched him in the stomach, he was so startled.

**  
**

Why would the Malfoys go to all the trouble of securing his guardianship, when they would only be able to use Harry's Wizengamot seats for four years?

**  
**

Perhaps Lady Malfoy genuinely cared for him, and perhaps not, but Lord Malfoy had absolutely no use for sentimentality, as far as Harry could see. Lucius Malfoy bought affection when necessary, and otherwise ignored emotions. A wizard like that would never take in a scrawny half-blood like Harry for such a meager payoff.

**  
**

If Harry thought about it, blood-status notwithstanding, he was a lovely little package, and he had been dropped right into the Malfoy's lap.

**  
**

Harry's grandparents had been influential, wealthy people. His family had fifteen seats in the Wizengamot, Draco actually wouldn't mind marrying him, preventing any ungainly scandals, and, Harry thought, as he went absolutely cold, he had helped to bring the Dark Lord back to life. Draco's father had been a death eater, and if the Dark Lord came back to power, Harry would be the perfect insurance for Draco's life.

**  
**

Harry felt rather ill at that idea and set himself to pacing the flower maze. His parents aside, why would Draco want to marry Harry? They got on, obviously, but Harry would admit that he was rather distant, kept his head buried in a book at all times, and the two of them were either inseparable or having a row over something totally inconsequential.

**  
**

But, if Harry marrying Draco had been the Malfoys' plan since at least Yule, that would explain the odd way Draco had been acting. Harry had attributed Draco's newfound protectiveness to Harry's near-death experience, but it seemed that Draco was simply making sure that no one else touched his things.

**  
**

Really, that was the issue with Harry marrying Draco. Harry wanted to be a proper wizard, and obviously, he'd planned on marrying a proper witch or wizard, but all of Harry's plans involved being Lord Potter. If Harry were a Lord, he would hold all of the power in his relationship. If Harry were Consort Malfoy, he would be subject to Draco's every whim, for the rest of his life. His children, for of course he would have to have them, would all be blonde, spoiled, and insufferable prats.

**  
**

By this time, the hem of his robe was covered in dirt, but he didn't see the point in spelling it off if he wasn't going back to the Manor for a while.

**  
**

Then, he thought of something else, and he abruptly stopped pacing and sat back down. If Harry didn't marry Draco, why would the Malfoys still want him? If this was their plan all along, Harry would either fulfill his purpose or make himself useless. If Harry didn't marry Draco, he might never see the Malfoys, or their Manor, ever again.

**  
**

More importantly, the Wizengamot might not let Harry stay with the Malfoys if he wasn't going to marry one of them.

**  
**

If Harry didn't agree to marry Draco now, he would quite literally destroy himself. Perhaps he would be sent to live with some other pureblood family by the Wizengamot, or perhaps he would be sent to live with some horrid family, like the Weasleys, with eleven children and no sense of decency. He would also make himself the new target for all of Slytherin, who all wanted to represent themselves as someone a Malfoy could count on.

**  
**

But worse than all that, he would lose his best friend. Draco was an enormous git, but Harry quite doubted that he would've survived for much longer living with the Dursleys if Draco hadn't become his friend. He owed Draco, and now, he had to pay off his debt.

**  
**

Harry stood up, spelled the dirt off of his robes, and quickly strode through the garden. If he was going to do this, he would have to do it now, before he lost his nerve. So, he made his way back to the Manor, his decision made. In the rest of his plans, he supposed, Harry would simply have to be Consort Malfoy.

**  
** Merlin, help him.


	2. The Heir Of Wiltshire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tried, valiantly, to keep his hands from shaking, but it seemed to be in vain, as they quivered like leaves in the breeze. 
> 
> He gripped the quill hard enough that his knuckles turned white, and he supposed Lord Malfoy must have noticed, as he stopped the flipping pages before they could finish, and flicked the sheaf of papers to page three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOO BOY.
> 
> So this chapter has now been re-written 4 times. I still don't really like the way it reads, but at this point, I just have to put it up, or I'll just never get past it. Some chapters are just like that. 
> 
> It's not Monday, but that's ok, I guess. Also, this chapter has so much weird manipulation in it that's it just kind of like, 'ugh, why do i like this fic, again?' As always, the chapter summary is in the end notes.
> 
> Also also, which I'm kind of excited about, I'm going to start posting deleted excerpts from the fic on my tumblr, under Boy-Who-Existed Edits (my tumblr is viceroyoftheverse.tumblr.com)

CHAPTER TWO: THE HEIR OF WILTSHIRE

The parlor was empty when Harry made his way back to the Manor, but he didn’t dare dawdle, not when Draco might appear any moment. Harry couldn’t imagine the hell his life might become if Draco Malfoy thought his fiancé didn't want to marry him.

 

The library was also empty, and for the briefest second, Harry wondered if he had simply dreamed up the whole incident. Then, Missy, the house elf who had brought Harry and Lady Malfoy their tea earlier, appeared with a ‘pop.’

 

“If Sir is wanting to come with Missy now, Missy will take him to Mistress.” The elf told him, and when Harry nodded, she took hold of the edge of his robe and led him from the library to Lord Malfoy’s study.

 

Harry knocked lightly on the door, and it swung open for him a moment later.

 

“Hello, Charlus.” Lady Malfoy said as she rose from her perch on the loveseat. “Did you enjoy your stroll through the gardens?”

 

Lord Malfoy turned from his desk, then, and raised one of his eyebrows at Harry, as if daring him to say ‘no.’

 

“Yes, it was lovely.” Harry’s voice sounded hollow, but if the Malfoys noticed, which he was certain they had, they didn't mention it. “I’d like, very much, to sign that contract now.”

 

Lady Malfoy smiled at him and took a firm grip on his elbow before she guided him to the loveseat.

 

Lord Malfoy crossed from his place at the desk, and placed the contract, in its thick sheaf of parchment, in front of Harry. With his other hand, he produced a peacock-feather quill from his robes and handed it to him. “If you would, Mr. Potter, sign pages three,” Lord Malfoy flicked his wand, and the sheaf of papers opened to each page, “ten, twelve, fifteen, twenty and twenty-two. ”

 

Harry tried, valiantly, to keep his hands from shaking, but it seemed to be in vain, as they quivered like leaves in the breeze.  He gripped the quill hard enough that his knuckles turned white, and he supposed Lord Malfoy must have noticed, as he stopped the flipping pages before they could finish, and flicked the sheaf of papers to page three. Perhaps, he thought Harry would suddenly change his mind about marrying Draco if given enough time to think about it.

Perhaps he would have, Harry thought. The conviction he had felt out in the garden was slowly slipping away, replaced by the horrid queasy feeling he got whenever he was nervous. It was the one thing that Harry could resolutely say he hated about himself, and he tried to picture the flowers out in the garden, in a futile hope their memory would calm his roiling stomach.

 

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment, and then, he asked, “...Do you think I could read it?” He felt rather flustered, but he suddenly had to read the contract. Perhaps, if Harry knew what he was agreeing to, he could finally stop worrying about it, and accept that he would marry Draco.

 

“Of course.” Lady Malfoy said, with a knowing smile, and flipped the sheaf of parchment to the first page.

 

“The Authority-

By service of the Ministry of Magic, we,

Draco Lucius Malfoy and Charlus James Potter 

hereby, before these witnesses, are engaged to be wed, as Heir Apparent and Consort to the Heir Apparent of the Lordship of Wizarding Wiltshire and Surrounding Areas, from this day until the day of our nuptials or the day of our deaths.

The Authority in and for this marriage shall be the Acting Minister of The Ministry of Magic, and the most esteemed and illustrious Wizengamot, whose words shall be the final Authority in the legality of the stipulations recorded within the following contractual agreement.”

 

That was standard, Harry knew, although his stomach gave a strange flip when he read 'the day of our deaths.'

 

“The Parties-

Draco Lucius Malfoy is a wizard of sound mind and character who shall be of lawful age and shall remain the active heir apparent to his inheritance of the Wizarding Lordship of Wiltshire and the surrounding territories and areas under wizarding control and/or influence.

Charlus James Potter is a wizard of sound mind and character who shall be of lawful age and shall be in full possession of the hereditary titles, magic, and fortunes of House Potter, to be given to his Lord husband upon the day of their union.”

 

That, Harry could easily agree to. In all the examples of Marriage Contracts he had read, the terms had been much harsher, with a Lord or Lady’s spouse practically becoming their property.

“The Benefits-

Both of the parties shall have the usual and customary duties of marriage including, but not limited to, the following:

Mutual sexual congress, whereupon it is specifically agreed that each party will endeavor to maintain high standards of hygiene and physical fitness so as to remain attractive one to the other;

Mutual society;

Mutual rearing of children.”

 

Of course the Malfoys would have a stipulation requiring them to remain attractive, Harry thought. It didn’t particularly surprise him, although he was quite sure that stipulation was directed at him, not Draco. As Lord Malfoy, Draco could appear any way he liked, really.

 

“Mutual support, including, but not limited to:

Financial:

Although Lord Malfoy shall be the person who controls the fortunes, properties and political seats and offices of the aforementioned marriage, so long as Lord Malfoy is the party who is the primary authority of all fortunes of the House and family, Consort Malfoy shall be the person primarily responsible for the direction of childcare, housekeeping, cooking, and cleaning.

 

The Prohibitions-

The following activities of behaviors shall be considered violations of the conditions of the engagement agreed upon within this contract:

Premarital Sexual Relations:

Any sexual activity or conduct by Consort Malfoy with any person or persons outside of this agreement, whether premarital or postmarital and any premarital form of penetrative sex that could result in the conception of a child with Heir Malfoy shall be considered violations of the marriage contract."

 

Harry couldn't imagine ever being 'unfaithful' to Draco, mostly because Draco would be the sort of wizard who would shove their consort off of a balcony for the affront to his pride.

 

"The following activities or behaviors shall be considered violations of the marriage contract:

 

Adultery:

Adultery is defined within this contract as any sexual activity or conduct by the appointed Consort Malfoy with any person or persons not a party to this agreement, and as any promise of financial stability or marriage to any person or persons not a party to this agreement, or recognition of any child sired out of the wedlock of this agreement by Lord Malfoy.

 

Abandonment:

Abandonment shall be defined as either the filing in state court of any instrument seeking either a legal separation or legal dissolution of the marriage or desertion from the marital home for a period of no less than six months - whether support is paid by the deserting party or not.

 

Abortion:

Abortion shall be defined as the deliberate termination of the life of a child after fertilization by any means, excluding in such cases as the birth of the aforementioned child should threaten the life of the appointed Consort Malfoy.

 

To Whom Appeal is Made-

At the first appeal, when one party believes the other party has violated the prohibitions above, the offended party shall take the matter to the accused party. If no resolution results from the first appeal, the offended party may demand physical separation from the accused party. See “The remedies” below. If no resolution results from the first appeal, the offended party shall take the matter to the accused party with two or three members of either party’s family. If no resolution results, the offended party shall call for a panel of the Wizengamot to judge the matter. The proceedings of the panel shall be recorded to whatever extent possible. The standard of proof shall be a preponderance of the evidence. If a party is found to be at fault, the panel shall render a decision in writing concerning punishment and magical means of preventing such abuses at further intervals. The prevailing party shall file a civil action in state court to memorialize and publish the panel’s decision. The non-prevailing party specifically agrees to allow the prevailing party to win a default judgment in the civil action in state court or to pay the prevailing party’s attorney fees incurred in the civil action in state court.

 

The Remedies-

Resolution and reconciliation:

Resolution and reconciliation shall be defined as counsel from an official counsel of a panel of the Wizengamot in any attempt to resolve circumstances and issues related to any violation of the above prohibitions.

 

Further Legal Proceedings-

For the protection of the House Malfoy, which both parties shall be or become members within upon the signing of this document, the following legal defenses shall be permissible by law:

Any prison sentences meted out for crimes committed by either party may be served by the party opposite, if the original perpetrator is injured, under mental duress, or with child.

 

The undersigned parties do hereby agree to the terms of this contract.

  Draco Lucius Malfoy     Charlus James Potter 

 

The undersigned do hereby witness the agreement of the parties.

Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy II       Lady Narcissa Malfoy née Black

 

Subscribed before me this third day of June, nineteen ninety-three.

Cornelius Fudge

Notary Public for the State of Wizarding Britain"

 

The Malfoys had exploited every loophole and had even had the papers pre-signed so that no one except Harry and the Malfoys themselves would ever know what had happened in this room. That way, if Harry were ever to become a less attractive option for Draco, they could simply say that the contract hadn’t been officiated properly. Harry hesitated over the third page.

He had thought it all over, and this was the best option. He admired the Malfoys for their master legal evasion, but what if they decided Harry had become a burden? Harry was very young to be signing his marriage contract, but in two years, he would be too old to sign another contract.

 

His hand began shaking again, and Lady Malfoy placed her hand on his shoulder before she leaned in and whispered, "He loves you, Charlus."

Harry felt absolutely wretched, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. He tightened his hand around the quill again and signed the page.

 

His signature was shaky, but it was the intent that made it binding, not the penmanship. His hand looped over and over on the pages, binding himself to each article, to each promise of fidelity and perpetual beauty.

As Harry was signing page twenty-two, there was a sharp rap on the door, which swung open with the force of it.

"Father, I can't find Harry or Mother-" Draco stood in the door frame, looking rather put out. He had let his hair, which was normally slicked back, hang down over the side of his face, and he had even worn dress robes. Draco, it seemed, had known exactly what was coming, even if Harry had been clueless. He abruptly stopped talking when he saw Harry and his mother sitting together, and the alarmed look he shot his father rather ruined the way he looked.

At that moment, Harry would have much preferred to melt into the sofa, rather than sit on it. His hand had stilled over the last signature, and it suddenly seemed that all three pairs of eyes were locked onto his hand.

Then, Lady Malfoy curled her hand around Harry's and gave it a single squeeze, as if to warn him what she might do if he hurt her son. Harry scratched the quill over the parchment one last time.

"Draco." Lady Malfoy's voice rang in Harry's ear, "You're up early, darling."

Draco gave his mother a nod, then he straightened himself, and the alarmed look vanished from his face. "Yes, Mother."

"Charlus, why don't you go and Draco take another stroll through the gardens? Lucius and I still have to finalize the agreement, and I'm sure you're both anxious to... Talk things over." Lady Malfoy dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

Harry took a slow breath, then pushed himself off of the sofa. He made his way to the door, and after a second of deliberation took Draco's hand and pulled him from the room. Draco wanted to marry him, and he expected Harry to want to marry him, so Harry could certainly try.

Harry pulled Draco from his father's study, and for a moment they simply stared at each other.

"I thought I would be the one to tell you," Draco finally said.

"I suppose you already had," Harry said, their hands still clasped together. "On the train, that is."

"I suppose. I saw you outside, you know. That's why I went looking for you." Draco said as they made their way out of the Manor. When Harry looked at him, he said, "You looked wretched. I thought someone ought to tell you."

"You know, I can see why your mother asked me," Harry scoffed, "you're doing a wonderful job of making me not want to marry you."

Draco shot him an affronted look, and Harry squeezed his hand. "I haven't gone anywhere yet, have I?"

**  
** Harry supposed he would never go anywhere, now. Malfoy Manor and the boy who would one day inherit it were his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings:  
> Heavy manipulation of a minor, and brief mentions of very unhealthy relationships.
> 
> Chapter Summary:
> 
> In this chapter, Harry returns from the gardens and finds the house empty. He thinks that the previous chapter's events, wherein Narcissa Malfoy told him that the Malfoys wanted him to marry their son, Draco, might have just been a dream, but the Malfoy's house elf, Missy, re-appears, and escorts him to Lucius Malfoy's study. While there, Lucius and Narcissa pressure him to marry their son, and Harry remains in his previous state of shock, although he does retain enough common sense to read through the marriage contract. Within, he finds conditions that, while quite possibly disturbing to the reader, Harry finds completely normal and perhaps even milder than he expected. He mentions that some marriage contracts leave a consort little more than a slave of their spouse, while the Malfoys only stipulate that Harry (and supposedly Draco, although Harry expresses doubt,) must remain attractive, must give his Wizengamot seats to Draco, and he is also held to an extreme degree of fidelity, as it is stipulated that Harry cannot have sexual contact of any kind with anyone other than Draco, while Draco has no such stipulations. In return, Harry will be considered a full-fledged member of House Malfoy, even before he is married, he will have access to all money and property held by the Malfoys, and if he were to be convicted of a crime, and he were in any way injured, or pregnant, he could force Draco to go to Azkaban for him. 
> 
> Harry does hesitate one last time over the contract when Narcissa Malfoy tells him that Draco is in love with him. Fueled by guilt, Harry proceeds to sign every article of the contract, except the last, magically binding article. Before he can do so, Draco emerges from upstairs, searching for Harry or his mother. He has dressed up for the occasion, and is even wearing dress robes, which implies that Draco knew they would be becoming engaged that day. Draco's appearance pulls Harry out of the cajoled state that Narcissa and Lucius have led him to, and the three of them seem to be afraid Harry will not sign the contract. Harry, however, seems to have convinced himself that the marriage is a good idea, as he signs the last article of the contract, and, when Narcissa asks both he and Draco to leave, he takes his hand. The two exit the room together, and, still holding hands, exchange slight banter, and Harry mentions, in regards to leaving, that he is "still here."


	3. Twilfit And Tattings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the half hour it took the elder Malfoys to reappear, Harry steeled himself for Draco's birthday. Harry, when he'd heard about it, had thought that Lord and Lady Malfoy were throwing it for themselves, but they'd been ten steps ahead of Harry- they were throwing an engagement ball, and Harry had been too dense to figure that out.

CHAPTER THREE: TWILFIT AND TATTINGS

 

In the half hour it took the elder Malfoys to reappear, Harry steeled himself for Draco's birthday. Harry, when he'd heard about it, had thought that Lord and Lady Malfoy were throwing it for themselves, but they'd been ten steps ahead of Harry- they were throwing an engagement ball, and Harry had been too dense to figure that out.

 

So, once they finished had their walk through the gardens, Harry tucked himself back into ‘his’ loveseat in the library, where Draco followed him. Draco idly flipped through a book of cleaning charms while they waited, although Harry wasn't sure Draco had even glanced at the cover.

 

“Mother’s taking you to have your robes made tomorrow," Draco told him once he'd flipped through the book twice.

 

Harry nodded at him, although he wasn't even reading his book. He had been trying to fight his way through a hundred page tome on the magical processes behind animagus transformations, but he simply couldn't make himself read past the second page. Every time he tried, his mind would wander, and he would only be able to think about the horrible things that had happened when Harry had first started reading about animagi.

 

"You'll need an entire set of new robes, now that we're to be married." Draco said- although Harry thought he heard some strange tick in Draco's voice when he said 'married.'

 

"You’ll probably have to come. You need new dress robes." Harry pointed out, as he pretended to be reading his book. At this point, he was simply flipping the pages, albeit at a slower pace than Draco.

 

Harry did glance up, however, to see the look on Draco's face. Draco despised being fitted for clothes, which Harry thought was rather funny, given how they had met. It had something to do with being pricked by a needle one too many times, Harry was sure. In any case, Draco's grimace was absolutely priceless.

 

"I suppose," Draco said, as he finally set his book on the side table.

 

"I don't know why you're so cross. You won't have to take a step near Madame Malki's, or her needles, until the end of the summer." Harry pointed out, as he snapped his book closed.

 

"The whole idea is distasteful. Father never has to be measured for his robes. It's a consort's job-" Draco sharply cut himself off, and Harry pretended not to have heard him.

 

"I'm quite sure no one has ever stabbed you with a needle at Twilfit and Tattings," Harry said, instead.

 

Draco didn’t say anything to that, so Harry opened his book again. A good Slytherin perseveres, and all that.

 

-

 

Diagon Alley in the summertime was unbelievably crowded, so much so that Lady Malfoy had to apparate them into the Leaky Cauldron, so as to not splinch all three of them. Harry had once eaten breakfast every morning in the Leaky Cauldron, where he had liked watching the other guests. He found he still enjoyed it, as he looked over the funny little witches in from the country, up for a day's shopping, and the venerable-looking wizards arguing over the latest article in Transfiguration Today. He especially delighted in the creature in the corner of the pub that looked suspiciously like a hag, who had ordered a plate of raw liver from behind a thick woolen balaclava.

 

Harry hadn’t enjoyed his last trip to Diagon Alley nearly as much, although he mostly attributed that to the lack of Lord Malfoy’s presence. Or, perhaps Harry was simply finding things to enjoy so that he wouldn’t have to focus on why they were there in the first place.

 

In either case, Lady Malfoy looked far less amused than Harry, as she quickly steered the two of them into the dingy back alley behind the Leaky Cauldron. Lady Malfoy didn’t really belong in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry mused. Dwelling in a dingy pub, even in mid-day, was the sort of thing reserved for a Lord, a Lady, or common wizards. Not a consort. With a pang, Harry realized that the two minutes they had spent inside the Leaky Cauldron might be the last time he ever saw it.

 

Harry was jolted from his thought process when Lady Malfoy took out her wand, tapped the third brick from the left above the trash bin, and took a step to the side as the archway into Diagon Alley opened in the wall.

 

Twilfit and Tattings' was on the opposite end of Diagon Alley, past the entrance to Knockturn Alley, and across from Scribbulus Writing Instruments.

 

It was the only clothing shop in Diagon Alley that specifically tailored to the wizarding upper class. If they were allowed to wear school robes from Twilfit and Tattings, Harry was quite sure that Draco wouldn't own clothes from anywhere else.

 

Not that Harry could talk, really. His own robes were all from Twilfit and Tattings, although he had only been inside the shop once; he had ordered most of his robes by owl, or Lady Malfoy had sent them to him.

 

As it were, Harry wasn't quite fond of robe shopping either, although he would never tell Draco that. If he did, Draco actually might never go robe shopping again.

 

Really, it wasn't as though Harry hadn't known that Lady Malfoy did all of Lord Malfoy's robe shopping. Most lords or ladies didn't have the time, so their consort would bring the tailor their measurements, and when the set was finished, the lord or lady themselves would present themselves to try the set on.

 

Draco, of course, wasn't a lord yet, so he had to have his measurements taken in shop, something that galled him to no end.

 

-

 

The front room of Twilfit and Tattings was upscale, but pleasant, with silk paneling, and paintings of various elderly wizards and witches, all sporting plaques that said things like “Spent four thousand galleons in one trip.” Underneath the portraits was a long counter with a stack of order forms and an ink pot.

 

Behind the counter stood Mr. Twilfit, one of the co-owners of the shop. "Ah, Lady Malfoy. Good morning, good morning." He said.

 

Mr. Twilfit was a middle-aged wizard (which placed him close to seventy,) who sported hair that almost rivaled Dumbledore’s length, braided and tossed over his shoulder. He had a dignified air about him, and he kept himself in examples of the shop’s merchandise. Harry had only seen him twice, once the previous time he had been in the shop, and the other when he had come to Malfoy Manor to meet with Lady Malfoy, but each time his robes had been increasingly intricate, with silk embroidery that would change color to complement the lighting.

 

“We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” Mr. Twilfit whisked himself out from behind the counter and pressed Lady Malfoy’s hand to his lips. “I must say, Reginald almost had a fit when he read your Draco was engaged already.” He was already pulling open the fitting room’s curtain. “I’m sure you’ll start quite the trend. Everyone will start signing their contracts at thirteen.”

 

Mr. Twilfit loved to talk, but he was a strict taskmaster, so he simply talked faster than he breathed. Harry could hardly understand him half the time, and he had no idea how Lady Malfoy could talk at him, much less talk with him. From beside him, Draco seemed even less impressed with the shop than he normally did, with his hands in his pockets, the very picture of cool indifference.

 

“Of course, we mustn’t discourage strong bonds, especially with the situation as it is. We must actively strive to preserve any traditions we do not wish to be- perhaps not eradicated, but thoroughly discouraged.” Mr. Twilfit said as he led them into the back room.

 

“Linny!” Mr. Twilfit snapped his fingers, and a skinny house elf appeared in front of them. “My tape measure, please.”

 

The skinny house elf disappeared, and Mr. Twilfit turned expectantly to Lady Malfoy.

 

“Just the one pair of dress robes for Draco,” she said, “and a full wardrobe for Charlus. I’ll need both pairs of the dress robes by tomorrow evening.”

 

“Of course, of course.” The house elf apparated back with Mr. Twilfit’s tape measure, and Lady Malfoy settled herself into one of the leather armchairs that were placed by a table with a stack of wizarding style pamphlets.

 

Style pamphlets were exactly that: a little booklet filled with the most popular robes of the season. The robes inside the pamphlets would twirl, bow, waltz, and stand in place, depending on what type of robes they were. The pamphlet in Lady Malfoy’s hand had a pair of engagement robes waltzing. After a moment, one of the pairs of robes bowed and kissed the imaginary hand of the other pair.

 

Mr. Twilfit summoned one of the fitting platforms from under the curtains leading to the next room and had Draco shrug off his over-robe before he stood on it.

 

Lady Malfoy lowered the style pamphlet she was reading and beckoned Harry over to her chair.

 

“Charlus, turn for me, please.” She said.

 

Harry did a slow turn until he was facing her again.

 

“Mm. I think a dark blue.” Lady Malfoy said.

 

Harry sat down in the chair next to her and watched as Draco scowled at Mr. Twilfit whenever he brought a needle close to him.

 

He really wished he had thought to bring a book with him when it ended up taking an entire hour for Draco to be fitted for his robes.

 

Once it was over, Lady Malfoy stood up from her chair, walked once around the platform, straightened the collar of Draco’s robe, then gave Mr. Twilfit a curt nod. “If you could have them boxed, and sent to the Manor. I’ll pay for them in person.”

 

“Lovely. Now, as for young Mr. Potter, are we doing something in the modern style, or perhaps something more traditional?” Mr. Twilfit asked.

 

“Perhaps a Modern Baroque cut. I think something in an Aegean Blue, perhaps.” She said.

 

“Lovely. Mr. Potter, if you would?” Mr. Twilfit pointed at the platform.

 

Harry stepped up onto the platform and pulled off his over-robe. Lady Malfoy extended her hand and delicately folded it over her arm.

 

As soon as the robe was out of his hands, though, Mr. Twilfit pulled his tape measure out of his pocket. The tape measure was much slower than Madame Malkin’s, and it leisurely circled him, while it occasionally wrapped itself around Harry’s stomach or his forearm. When Mr. Twilfit seemed satisfied, he beckoned to the tape measure, which flew back into his pocket. A little piece of parchment jutted out from the end, and Mr. Twilfit snapped it off.

 

“Lovely, lovely. I’m sure we have something that will suit Mr. Potter.” He said.

 

Mr. Twilfit moved over to the closets, and with a flourish of his wand, rolls of fabric floated out of each closet.

 

Mr. Twilfit perused each closet’s contents, lighting running his fingers over silk, testing the firmness of crushed velvet, before he settled on a dark blue satin. He snapped his fingers, and a great pair of cloth shears cut a sheet of cloth off of the roll, then came to circle Harry, before lightly draping itself on his shoulders.

 

“Lovely, lovely.” Mr. Twilfit pulled out a smaller pair of cloth shears and a set of hoops, then set to work.

 

Harry could hear him humming a waltz, and occasionally he would mutter something about needle width, or where to set a hoop.

 

Harry tried not to fidget, and Mr. Twilfit steadily built a robe around him. The hoops set themselves into place around Harry’s wrists, and the fabric rolled itself into place around them. Mr. Twilfit trimmed the fabric over and over until eventually the end of the robe was cut tightly to his wrist, with a silver button to hold the two sides together.

 

Lady Malfoy nodded at Mr. Twilfit from her seat in the leather armchair, so he cut the other end of the robe to match the one on his left wrist, then moved on to the body of the robe.

 

Mr. Twilfit put a flexible piece of dragon backbone against Harry’s stomach, then threaded a piece of ribbon through each side, and put another piece behind Harry’s lower back. The dragon bone, Harry discovered, was no longer flexible when tied together, and looped over his shoulders. It made him stand up even straighter than usual, but the idea of actually wearing it, much less dancing in it, made him never want to get out of bed again.

 

Once the dragon bone monstrosity was tied together, Mr. Twilfit selected a white piece of silken padding, and placed it over the dragon bone, before he sewed together the top of the padding and one of the shoulders of the robe. Harry suddenly longed for the simple pair of green dress robes that Lady Malfoy had bought him the year before.

 

Mr. Twilfit fished a little parchment packet out from under the platform, then shook out another five or six silver buttons. Harry really wished he had brought his book.


	4. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry made his way back to the front of the shop in time to hear Mr. Twilfit say that he would "...Have them all delivered by four o’clock tomorrow. That should be more than enough time for him to get used to them before they start going out for courtship walks."

CHAPTER FOUR: PREPARATIONS

 

The robe that Mr. Twilfit designed for Harry took almost three hours to be completed, and it was quite possibly the heaviest thing Harry had ever worn. Lady Malfoy said it was suitable, but Harry couldn’t imagine actually wearing it in front of anyone. Not that he would say that, of course.

 

“Now, Lady Malfoy, about the rest of Mr. Potter’s robes…” Harry could hear Mr. Twilfit say from the next room.

 

In the back room, Draco stood up from the leather armchair he had been sitting in and straightened his robes. “The Minister is coming, you know.”

 

Harry couldn’t begin to think of a response to that. The Minister Of Magic would, of course, be coming to check that Harry had been properly tied down to the Malfoys. Harry didn’t doubt that Minister Fudge had had considerable sway over which family inevitably absorbed Harry’s family Wizengamot seats.

 

Harry needn’t have worried, for Draco, as usual, was more than happy to talk enough for both of them. As he wandered across the room, peering at the sewing instruments (which Harry thought was rather a bad idea, given magical tailors’ apparent propensity for hidden needles, and Draco’s hatred of all things long, thin and sewing related), he mentioned that the Minister would most likely just be leaving Malfoy Manor by the time they returned to it.

 

Lord Malfoy apparently had an appointment with the Minister, and Minister Fudge, according to Draco, was an enormous fan of Lord Malfoy. Harry nodded along, but he couldn’t help but think that it was the Malfoy’s enormous bank account that the Minister was a fan of.

 

“Boys.” Lady Malfoy’s voice carried in from the next room, cutting off Draco’s speech about how influential his father was in the Wizengamot.

 

Harry made his way back to the front of the shop in time to hear Mr. Twilfit say that he would “...Have them all delivered by four o’clock tomorrow. That should be more than enough time for him to get used to them before they start going out for courtship walks.”

 

Courtship walks. Harry had forgotten about those. He came to an abrupt stop in the doorframe, and Draco nearly walked into him.

 

“Why are you just standing in the doorway?” Draco asked, from behind him.

 

“Sorry, I thought I had something on my shoe.” Harry lied before he quickly moved out of the doorway.

 

Courtship walks were, from what Harry had read, long and painful strolls throughout Wizarding Britain, that would be watched by increasingly larger crowds of people depending on the importance of the pair that was ‘courting.’ Given that most contracts ended in marriages, whether both parties liked it or not, courting was too polite a term for it. It was really a way for all of Wizarding Britain to place bets on how many children couples would have, try to entice one or both parties away from each other, and to gossip.

 

Harry could only imagine how many people would watch his courtship walks. The Malfoys were one of the wealthiest, most influential families in all of Wizarding Britain, and at least twenty to thirty wizarding families lived within their jurisdiction, however non-existent their actual power over them was. Harry would be like the unfortunate fish Dudley Dursley had once received for his birthday, with people pressing their faces close to his glass bowl, demanding that he perform tricks to amuse them. He felt rather sick, and as Lady Malfoy left the shop, with he and Draco in tow, he avoided looking anywhere near her shoes. One near miss with Lord Malfoy would be more easily excused than Harry actually vomiting on Narcissa Malfoy’s shoes.

 

-

 

When they returned to Malfoy Manor, they returned to an enormous amount of activity. The grounds were being trimmed by professional groundskeepers, rather than the house elves, and the great front gates had recently been polished.

 

The stones of the Malfoy’s drive had been cleaned, as well, and there was a pair of wizards directing cleaning equipment to scrub the non-existent dirt from the Manor’s walls. Lady Malfoy gave them the slightest nod of her head, then made her way up to the front of the Manor, before snapping her fingers.

 

Missy, the house elf who had served him tea that morning (which seemed as though it had been days ago), appeared with a ‘pop’, took the robe boxes from Lady Malfoy’s hands, and disappeared again without a word.

 

The entry hall of the Manor looked more like King’s Cross Station than it did an entry way. There were house elves scurrying to and fro with different pieces of dishware, cutlery, and glassware, while work wizards levitated different pieces of furniture about the hall, and into the ballroom.

 

In the center of the whole thing were Lord Malfoy and a man that Harry only recognized as the Minister for Magic from Draco’s descriptions of his clothes, which did not disappoint. The set of robes he was currently wearing had been altered to look like a muggle’s pinstripe suit, but whoever had made it had clearly never seen a muggle suit before. The sleeves jutted out at an angle that didn’t fit a pair of robes or a suit, and the lapel seemed to only be attached to the robe at the base of the throat, making Minister Fudge look like a rather garish, over-excited goose when he talked.

 

Lord Malfoy, who Harry had never seen looking so disinterested, would occasionally say something to the Minister, who would then cut himself off, stop talking to listen to what Lord Malfoy had to say, and then go off on a completely different subject.

 

If Harry hadn’t seen it himself, he never would have imagined Lord Malfoy would tolerate that sort of behavior, much less for hours on end.

 

Lady Malfoy briefly stopped to tell a house elf to check the glasses, then made her way over to where Lord Malfoy and Minister Fudge were standing.

 

“Good afternoon, Minister.” Lady Malfoy said. “I do hope you weren’t disturbed by all the activity?”

 

“Of course not, of course not.” Minister Fudge waved his hand. “Lucius and I,” Harry saw Lord Malfoy barely repress a grimace at the familiarity, “were just talking about your boy getting engaged.”

 

At that, Minister Fudge caught sight of Harry, who had been standing just behind Lady Malfoy. “And this must be the lucky young man himself. Charlus, wonderful to meet you.” He extended his hand towards him.

 

Harry tried not to look as reluctant as he felt to take the Minister’s hand, and he tried valiantly to remember how Lady Malfoy had behaved when presented with someone’s hand.

 

When the Minister raised his hand, Harry tried to make his bow as smooth as possible, but as he went to pull his foot back in as he straightened up, one of the work wizards came rushing past and crashed into him.

 

Harry’s ankle gave a sickening ‘crack’ as he went down, and Draco, who had been standing behind him, tried to steady him, but the weight of the work wizard on his leg only ended up pulling Draco down as well, and the three of them ended up in a messy pile on the floor.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry-” the work wizard began, but the entire room seemed to react at once.

 

All of the house-elves stopped where they were, and the other work wizards began to levitate whatever burden they held faster, as though not being in the room would make the outcome less horrific.

 

Harry had landed almost on top of the work wizard, and when he scrambled to his feet, Harry was unceremoniously re-dumped onto the floor, and he hissed in pain when his ankle hit the floor.

 

“I’m so sorry, I really wasn’t-” The work wizard started to say when Lord Malfoy cut him off with a glare.

 

Lady Malfoy kneeled down to help Harry up and gently pressed her fingers to either side of his ankle. When he hissed again, Lord Malfoy offered her his hand, and she stood up again. “I believe it’s broken. Draco, why don’t you help your father sort this out while I bring Charlus into the parlor?”

 

With a scowl, Draco disentangled himself from Harry, and stood up, while Lady Malfoy levitated one of the remaining chairs in the entry hall to where Harry was sprawled on the floor, then gently helped him into the chair.

 

Harry didn’t particularly want to watch Lord Malfoy get the man who had crashed into him fired, but he also didn’t particularly want to sit with Lady Malfoy in her parlor.

 

-

 

Lady Malfoy’s parlor was a few hallways off of the main entry hall, and after a rather harrowing experience on a floating chair, Harry was deposited on the loveseat next to the window. Lady Malfoy had snapped her fingers, and Dobby, the worst of the Malfoys' house elves, appeared.

 

“I shall need a medical kit. Quickly.” She said.

 

Dobby was notorious for showing up with whatever someone asked him for several hours after they had asked him for it.

 

With a resentful glare, Dobby disappeared, then reappeared with a pair of wooden splints and a potion.

 

Lady Malfoy took the splints from him and set the potion on the side table. “You may go,” She told him, with a dismissive wave.

 

Lady Malfoy wrapped the splint around Harry’s ankle and pressed on both sides while muttering what Harry assumed was a healing spell.

 

After a minute, Harry’s ankle went pleasantly numb, and Lady Malfoy fished the potion off of the table beside him and handed it to Harry.

 

“If you would drink that, please.” Lady Malfoy said.

 

Harry lifted the potion bottle to his lips and tried not to gag at the taste. It wasn’t the worst potion he’d ever tasted, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant.

 

“You’ll have to stay here for a little while. Perhaps you’d like to look at some of my etiquette novels, as a… Refresher.” She said.

 

“...I would, thank you.” Harry said, after a pause.

 

Lady Malfoy smiled at him and levitated a stack of books down from the shelf on the other side of the room.

 

With another smile, Lady Malfoy went back into the entry hall. Harry sighed, and picked up a book on dinner etiquette. He knew he’d forgotten a proper bow, and he wanted to make sure he knew each piece of cutlery.


	5. A Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco sprawled out on the love seat beside him, then leaned forward and snatched one of the books out of the pile that Lady Malfoy had levitated down for Harry.
> 
> '‘A Consort’s Guide To Formal Dance,’' Draco read. 'You aren’t actually going to read this, are you?' He asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings and a chapter summary are in the endnotes.

CHAPTER FIVE: A WALTZ

 

Harry had just finished checking his knowledge on dinner and dessert forks when Draco came into his mother’s parlor.

 

“They’ve fired him,” Draco said. “Father said something about putting an assault on his work transcripts.”

 

Harry jerked his head out of his book. He certainly hadn’t wanted for him to be fired. It had been an accident. It had made him uncomfortable, of course, and he’d broken his ankle, but he’d certainly had worse.

 

Draco sprawled out on the love seat beside him, then leaned forward and snatched one of the books out of the pile that Lady Malfoy had levitated down for Harry.

 

“‘A Consort’s Guide To Formal Dance,’” Draco read. “You aren’t actually going to read this, are you?” He asked.

 

“Your mother gave it to me,” Harry said, as he closed the book on etiquette he’d been reading. “She thought I might need to refresh myself on the Cajun Waltz.” Harry quipped.

 

“She most certainly did not,” Draco snapped.

 

Harry could only imagine the sort of bizarre world in which Narcissa Malfoy would suggest that Harry learned how to dance with his hips.

 

“I suppose you’ll never know,” Harry said, then snapped open Lady Malfoy’s etiquette book again.

 

“You know, you won’t always be able to hide behind your books,” Draco said, as he pulled a golden ball out of his pocket. Harry was still pretty sure he’d stolen it from a first year, but Draco wouldn’t be parted with it.

 

Harry was pretty sure he carried the ball around to improve his seeker skills, although Draco said it was because it was “dreadfully boring” watching Harry read all the time.

 

“I suppose,” Harry said.

 

“Charlus,” Lady Malfoy’s voice carried through the door, “has your ankle healed?”

 

Harry put his foot above the ground, then rotated his ankle. “Yes, L- Narcissa.” He put his foot down and nearly went crashing into Draco when he pressed a hand to his back and elbow.

 

Lady Malfoy raised one eyebrow at Draco and turned on her heel. “Be in the ballroom in five minutes, darling,” She called over her shoulder.

 

“I can walk, Draco. I’m not an invalid.” Harry pointed out, as he went to return the books Lady Malfoy had levitated down for them.

 

Draco pretended not to hear him, and instead asked, “What are you doing? The elves will fix it.”

 

Harry shrugged and slid them back onto the shelf.

 

“You’re going to be married to a Malfoy. Mother certainly never cleans anything she doesn’t have to.” Draco said.

 

Harry couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that. “The elves might miss-sort them.”

 

Draco gave him an odd look, then stuck out his elbow. When Harry raised an eyebrow at that, Draco said, “We have to practice walking together.”

 

Harry slid his elbow into Draco’s, and they left the library. Without anyone there, Harry felt rather ridiculous, and he was pretty sure Draco was just trying to help him walk, again.

 

“We’ll be coming from upstairs, but we’ll still have to cross the entry hall and enter the ballroom like this,” Draco told him. “Father says we’ll be the last ones announced.”

 

Harry nodded.

 

Draco gave him an odd look, then snapped his fingers.

 

“How can Dobby be helping Master Draco?” Dobby appeared in front of Draco with a crack.

 

“Mother told you to open the door.” Draco scowled.

 

“Mistress told Dobby to be opening a door. Mistress was not saying which door Dobby was to opening.” Dobby scowled back.

 

“Well, I am now telling you to open this door.” Draco snapped.

 

“As Master Draco is wishing,” Dobby said, then snapped his fingers, and the heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open. Without asking if Draco would like anything else, Dobby disappeared with a ‘pop!’

 

“Stupid elf.” Draco scowled again. “Father says that once Tippy’s child is old enough, we’ll get rid of Dobby.”

 

Harry, of course, had read about purebloods killing their house elves, but he couldn’t actually imagine a family like the Malfoys killing theirs, even if they weren’t following orders.

 

Then again, Lord Malfoy adored his albino peacocks, and anyone who hurt one of them would most likely end up on the wrong end of his wand, but he would still serve them for dinner if they became too aggressive.

 

“How old is it?” Harry asked.

 

“Tippy’s child?” Draco asked.

 

Harry nodded.

 

“I’m sure Mother knows. I’ve no idea.” Draco admitted.

 

Lady Malfoy, who was talking to a middle-aged wizard holding a conductor’s baton, turned at the sound of Draco’s voice. “Draco, you’re late.”

 

Draco pulled on Harry’s elbow hard enough that it was either Harry walk with him or risk falling down the stairs.

 

“Dobby’s having trouble following orders,” Draco said. The ‘again’ seemed to hang, unspoken.

 

Lady Malfoy nodded to the wizard and excused herself.

 

“Charlus, is your ankle feeling alright?” Lady Malfoy asked.

 

“Yes, Narcissa. I’m perfectly fine.” He told her, although he was rather gobsmacked that Lady Malfoy would just outright ignore Draco. From the look on Draco’s face, he didn’t think Lady Malfoy had ever done that before.

 

“Perhaps you should go and rest it for another few minutes, just in case. You'll be doing quite a bit of dancing, I’m afraid.” She told him.

 

Harry nodded and went to take one of the chairs that had been set up on the side of the ballroom. He folded one leg over his knee, the way Lady Malfoy had shown him, and snuck a glance at where she and Draco stood.  

 

Lady Malfoy whispered something into Draco’s ear, and even from where he was sitting, Harry could see when Draco scowled at the floor. He whispered something back, and Lady Malfoy smoothed out an invisible wrinkle in his robe before she kissed him on the cheek and returned to the wizard who would conduct the orchestra.

 

Harry stood up from his chair and met Draco just behind his mother. Draco scowled at him, and Harry’s stomach felt as though it had just flipped over. Draco had only ever been cross with him a few times, and every time it had been because Harry had done something unbelievably stupid. Harry was certain he would remember if he had done something to Draco.

 

“I believe we’ll start with a slow waltz.” Lady Malfoy told the conductor, and the orchestra began to tune their instruments.

 

Lady Malfoy gave Draco a sharp look, and Draco grabbed Harry’s wrist to pull him into the center of the ballroom. It didn’t hurt, necessarily, but Harry was sure it was supposed to.

 

The conductor must have given the orchestra a cue because they began to play shortly thereafter.

 

Draco, of course, led, and if he gripped Harry’s hand any harder, he was afraid it would break.

 

“What’s the matter?” Harry muttered as he crossed his step.

 

“Oh, nothing.” Draco turned, and Harry’s hip really was beginning to get sore. “Only you’ve been ignoring me all morning, and now Mother- my mother, thank you very much- has taken your side, so I don’t see anything that isn’t the matter!”

 

Lady Malfoy shot them a sharp look, although Harry knew she couldn’t hear what Draco was saying, so Harry made sure to smile at Draco. “My side?” Harry hissed, once they had moved a little farther away from Draco’s mother. “How can there possibly be sides when we’re going to get married?”

 

Draco moved his other hand to Harry’s other hip before he picked him up and twirled him. It certainly didn’t hurt any less on the other hip, and Harry had never even wanted to think about being twirled since his stomach would usually roll on its own.

 

“It certainly doesn’t seem like we’re about to be married.” Draco hissed when he had set him down again. “You at least paid attention to me at school. Now it’s like I don’t exist.”

 

Harry took a deep breath through his nose, and tried to focus on not being sick, and not messing up the steps to the waltz. His stomach might have calmed down, but not responding to Draco for even a moment seemed to have inflamed his bloody temper.

 

“See? You’re ignoring me right now.” Draco hissed.

 

“I’m not ignoring you,” Harry whispered, “I’m trying not to re-break my ankle.”

 

“Exactly!” Draco hissed again. “If I hadn’t caught you, then it would have been worse, and you certainly haven’t thanked me for it-”

 

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, as they moved to start circle position.

 

“You’re welcome,” Draco sniffed, although he didn’t let up any on Harry’s hip.

 

Harry caught sight of Lady Malfoy again and gave Draco another smile.

 

“You see?” Draco hissed, suddenly angry again. “You’re faking for her. She thinks you’re a darling, but you’re only marrying me for my money, aren’t you?”

 

Harry almost missed the next step, the way his heart stopped. “What?”

 

“You heard me.” Draco hissed, as he spun Harry in a circle.

 

“I’m marrying you because your mother told me that you love me,” Harry hissed back. “And because I couldn’t very well say no to that, could I?”

 

This time, it was Draco’s turn to almost miss the next step, and it was only Harry tugging on Draco’s hand that kept them moving. “She told you that?” Draco asked.

 

“Your mother doesn’t even like me,” Harry said, although he had no idea where it came from. He really shouldn’t have said anything, he thought, although Draco had stopped trying to break his hip. “She just wants you to be happy.”

 

They finished their turn, and the orchestra wound down as they finished.

 

They separated, bowed to each other, then resumed position.

 

The conductor gave the orchestra another cue, and they began to play again.

 

Draco moved backward, crossed his step, and turned them about.

 

Draco worried his lip as he turned them, although he let go of it just as quickly. He only did that when he wanted to ask a question, but he hadn’t figured out a way to ask it without making it look like he cared.

 

“Would you have signed it?" Draco whispered, "If she hadn't told you that?"

 

Harry didn't actually know if he would have or not. But he certainly wasn't about to tell Draco that. "I-" Harry, for once, couldn't think of a way to say 'yes' that wouldn't sound forced.

 

Harry could see the second that Draco's emotions tipped again, and he didn't think his bloody hip could take another hour long mood. Harry wasn't sure why he did it, but he leaned in and kissed Draco.

 

It was, quite probably, the most awkward moment of Harry’s life. He had no idea how to kiss someone, and Draco stopped moving altogether.

 

Harry moved to pull back, ready to get the absolute worst of Draco's temper on how dare he touch Draco without his permission, but Draco wouldn't let him go. The hand that had been on Harry's hip pressed into the middle of his back, and Draco then proceeded to snog him within an inch of his life.  

 

He wasn't sure if that was better or worse, really. Harry wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with his hands, or how he should kiss back. Draco wasn't very good at it either, but at least he sort of knew how to move his mouth.

 

He desperately searched his brain for a memory of one of the horrid muggle movies Dudley had liked to watch since there had always been someone snogging in them.

 

Lapels, muggle women would tug men down by their lapels.

 

Wizards in general, and Draco in particular, didn’t have lapels, and Harry didn’t particularly enjoy comparing himself to a girl, or a muggle, but he fisted his hand into the collar of Draco's robe anyway.

 

Draco's teeth clacked against his, and he really hoped that they'd be able to stop and breathe again in a moment.

 

Lady Malfoy cleared her throat at them.

 

Harry disentangled himself, and Draco reluctantly let go of him.

 

Lady Malfoy smiled at the conductor, said something to him, and the orchestra started again.

 

Harry wasn’t really sure he could dance at the moment, given the way his lungs felt ready to give out, but he supposed it would give him some time to figure out what in the hell he was going to say to Draco.

 

“I suppose that answers my question,” Draco whispered, as he took Harry’s hand again.  “Can I do that again, tomorrow?”

  
“I suppose.” Harry smiled at him, although he wasn’t quite sure if he did want Draco to kiss him again, or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings:  
> Mentions of slavery, mentions of killing slaves (house elves), mild violence, mild paranoia, mood swings, and very mild dubious consent to kissing.
> 
> Chapter Summary:  
> In this chapter, Harry, who ended the previous chapter waiting in Lady Malfoy's study, is joined by Draco Malfoy, his best friend, who he has recently been engaged to. Draco tells him that the worker who ran into Harry has been fired by Draco's father, Lucius. While he tells him this, Draco sees the title of one of the books his mother had asked Harry to read, and the two bicker about how much Harry reads, although it seems to mean something different to Draco than it does to Harry. In the middle of their argument, Draco's mother, Narcissa, interrupts them and asks them (although she only talks to Draco) to meet her in the ballroom. Draco lightly berates Harry for putting back his mother's books and tells him that he'll never have to clean up for himself again. Then, the two leave the study and cross the hallway to the ballroom. When they get there, however, they find that an irate Dobby has maneuvered around Narcissa Malfoy's commands, and Draco becomes angry with him. Although Draco doesn't do anything to the elf, he tells Harry, once Dobby has left, that once another of the house elves is old enough, Dobby will be killed. Harry is nonchalant, although he does seem surprised that the Malfoys would kill one of their house elves. The two finally enter the ballroom, where Narcissa comments that Draco is late, to which Draco responds that it was Dobby's fault. After dismissing the conductor of the orchestra that is practicing for the next night's ball, Narcissa ignores Draco in favor of asking Harry about his ankle, which shocks Draco. Narcissa dismisses Harry, and she and Draco have a hushed discussion, which Harry cannot hear. Draco and Harry then begin waltzing, at which time Draco confronts Harry. As Draco berates Harry for ignoring him and making his mother 'take his side,' he holds Harry's hip, as he is leading the dance, hard enough to hurt Harry. They argue while pretending to be happy, and Draco accuses Harry of marrying him for his money, although they had been friends for two years. Harry reveals that Narcissa convinced him to sign their marriage contract by telling Harry that Draco loved him, which shocks Draco, and that (according to Harry) Narcissa doesn't like Harry. Draco then asks if Harry would have signed the contract without his mother's interference, and when Harry hesitates, Draco becomes angry again. In an effort to calm him down, Harry kisses Draco, and Draco, after his own moment of hesitation, kisses him back, although Harry feels uncomfortable. Then chapter ends with Draco asking if he can kiss Harry again the next day (Draco's birthday, and the day of the ball), and Harry telling him that he can, although he privately isn't sure if he wants him to.


	6. A Newspaper Clipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hadn’t minded it too terribly at the beginning of the night, but he’d had a terribly strange dream, in which a man who Harry had never seen before lifted him on to a very small broom, and made him fly about the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. Harry had fallen off of the broom, and the silk sheets had reminded him of the feeling of falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings and the chapter summary are in the endnotes.

CHAPTER SIX: A NEWSPAPER CLIPPING

 

It was still dark outside, but Harry couldn’t go back to bed.

 

At some point during the day, Lady Malfoy had had the house elves move his things to the room right next to Draco’s. Although Draco had never bothered to tell him the official designations of each bedroom, they each had a specific purpose.

 

Draco’s bedroom was the Malfoy heir’s bedroom, which was reserved for the eldest child in the family until they became a lord or lady.

 

The bedroom across the hall, which Harry had been staying in, was reserved for either the next oldest sibling or the eldest’s first child.

 

The room next to Draco’s, the one that would be Harry’s until he was married, was saved for the heir’s fiance.

 

Lady Malfoy had stressed that he could decorate it any way he liked, as soon as the ball was over. Currently, it looked like a shrine to a teenaged Lady Malfoy. The bed was antique, but she had draped it entirely in light blue lace, with silk sheets, silk pillow coverings, a silk duvet, and strangely enough, a lace bed skirt.

 

Harry didn’t mind the lace, although the light flowing through them did make rather strange patterns. He did mind the silk, though, since every time he tried to move, his bedclothes, which were also made out of silk, would send him flying to the other side of the bed.

 

He hadn’t minded it too terribly at the beginning of the night, but he’d had a terribly strange dream, in which a man who Harry had never seen before lifted him on to a very small broom, and made him fly about the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. Harry had fallen off of the broom, and the silk sheets had reminded him of the feeling of falling.

 

So, Harry had sat himself down on the old loveseat by the window and was now steadily working his way through a book on a consort’s duties. The book itself was terribly dry, but none of the duties listed were terribly hard. Most of the things required to take care of a large manor were done by house elves, and a consort simply had to direct them. He would have to make course menus, and he’d have to do a terribly large amount of shopping, but he didn’t think that would be too awful.

 

Most of a consort’s job, according to the book, which he had found on a shelf by the loveseat, was to stand about and look attractive. There was an entire chapter dedicated to “How to keep your looks ready for royalty!” Harry actually thought he wouldn’t mind trying some of those out.

 

Harry pulled his wand off of the low table by the loveseat, and cast a quick ‘lumos.’ He hadn’t actually looked in the bathroom yet, and now would be a perfect time.

 

The en suite bathroom had obviously been enlarged, as it was almost the same size as the bedroom. There was an enormous mirror on one side of the room, with a wide basin marble sink, and a white clawfoot tub.

 

Harry found his hair products, after a bit of rummaging, in one of the vanities on the side of the mirror, along with a few things that Harry certainly hadn’t had before. Lady Malfoy, he assumed, had put the bottles of curling potions, teeth whitening potions, glasses cleaning potions, a large case of “Colognes for Consorts,” and a large bottle of skin cleansing potion, in the vanity.

 

Harry propped his wand against the mirror and pulled out the bottle of skin cleansing potion. Harry had relatively clear skin since Lady Malfoy had shown him a spell to clean excess dirt from his face, but if he looked closer, he did notice that in certain spots, his pores were darker.

 

Harry set the bottle down on the counter, then opened the other vanity. On the shelves were various combs and brushes, with little cloth applicator squares for potions. Harry pulled out one of the applicators and uncorked the bottle. He pressed the applicator to the neck of the bottle and tilted it.

 

It didn’t smell particularly like something Harry would like to put on his face, but most potions smelled horrid. Still, Harry dabbed the applicator onto his inner arm, and when he didn’t begin to break out in boils or anything else, he ran the applicator over his face.

 

Although it smelled awful, it felt alright. Having the extra oil pulled out of your skin was a very strange experience, Harry found.

 

Once he’d finished with the applicator, he opened the book again and flipped to the page on curling your hair. Harry’s hair had long since come out of the careful part he had spelled it into this morning, and it looked wild and crazy in comparison to the picture in the book.

 

Harry pulled down the bottle of curling potion, uncorked it, and spread it over his fingers. He watched the wizard in the picture wrap strands about his fingers and pull them to shape. ‘To finish the curl,’ the book said, ‘simply wash out the curling potion, and if applied properly, your curl will last for over three days! No muss, no fuss, and your spouse will feel like royalty in bed.’

 

Harry didn’t know about that last bit, but he liked the idea of not having to tame his mop of hair for three days. He wasn’t quite as bad as Draco, but he spent almost twenty minutes every morning combing out his hair.

 

Harry wrapped a strand of hair tightly around his finger, then whispered the spell that the book included. When he was satisfied it would stay, he turned his head in the mirror and wrapped a different strand of hair around his finger. It didn’t take very long, Harry found, and his hair looked alright.

 

He was a bit afraid to take a bath in the middle of the night, but the book said not to leave the curling potion in for very long, or the curls would be untameable.

 

Harry gave an experimental snap of his fingers, and although it took a moment, a house elf appeared right in front of him.

 

“What can Tippy be doing for Master Charlus?” The house elf asked.

 

“Would you draw me a bath?” Harry asked.

 

The house elf nodded her head, and her great ears flapped in the moonlight. “Would Master Charlus like Tippy to be lighting the lights?”

 

“No, thank you,” Harry said. Lady Malfoy had told him not to thank the house elves, or rather, that consorts did not thank house elves, but he didn’t think it would kill anyone if he accidentally thanked a house elf once or twice.

 

While Tippy drew him his bath, Harry rinsed the remainder of the curling potion off of his fingers, although most of it had already evaporated. He dried his hands on a hand towel and picked the book up off the counter.

 

He read the section on ‘Colognes for Consorts,’ while he waited. It was a very high-end brewery, and they exclusively brewed ‘luxury scents for wizards of high couture.’ Harry’s head was beginning to hurt from all of the alliteration they’d tried to use, and he gladly snapped the book closed when Tippy told him his bath was ready.

 

“Will Master Charlus be needing anything else?” She asked.

 

Harry shook his head, and she apparated away with a ‘pop.’

 

Harry slowly pulled off his silk bedclothes, careful not to get any curling potion on them.

 

It was rather strange to be taking a bath in the dark, but it was oddly comforting. Harry would have to spend most of the next day wearing the most uncomfortable dress robes in all history, and it was nice to relax.

 

He gently washed the curling potion from his hair, and his curls, as promised, stayed in place, even when they got wet.

 

After he’d gotten the last of the potion out of his hair, Harry just laid in the bath, content and warm.

 

-

 

In the dream, Harry seemed to be floating, hovering above a dark hallway. He could see two men as they walked down the hallway, and as they walked nearer and nearer, Harry recognized one of them as the Minister of Magic. The other man wore a uniform, and as the two walked down the hallway, they looked into the dark cells on either side of the hallway.

 

When they reached the section of hallway underneath Harry, the minister looked into a cell. Harry suddenly tilted, and with a jolt, he saw a man that he vaguely recognized. He thought he had seen the man before, but he couldn’t quite remember where.

 

The man had crawled into the corner, but he moved forward when the Minister slid a newspaper underneath the cell door.

 

The man in the cell gingerly pulled the newspaper towards him and looked down at the cover.

 

Somehow, someway, the Dark Lord’s face stared up at Harry, and he fell from where he was hovering.

 

The dream went dark, and when Harry looked again, Ginny Weasley was crying on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets.

 

“He stole him, he ruined it!” She wailed, as the Dark Lord emerged from the shadows.

 

“There, there, it’ll be alright…” He crooned.

 

Harry wanted to turn away, but his head wouldn’t move.

 

A newspaper appeared in Ginny’s hands, and she sobbed harder.

 

“He stole him! He’s marrying him!” She cried.

 

Harry desperately tried to look away, but he stayed frozen in place as the Dark Lord drew closer to Ginny Weasley.

 

“I’m going to fix it,” The Dark Lord crooned, as he came closer. He took her in his arms, and as Harry watched, his teeth became the basilisk’s fangs, and as they came down to Ginny’s shoulder, Harry struggled against whatever held him in place.

 

Harry looked down and found himself crushed in the basilisk’s coils. It was freezing cold, and Harry struggled harder against it.

 

The basilisk coiled tighter and tighter around him, and he tried to close his eyes, but he couldn’t.

 

“Harry?” Draco’s voice echoed down through the Chamber, and Harry snapped awake.

 

He’d fallen asleep in the bath. It was just a dream.

 

The water in the bath had gone cold, and when Harry climbed out, he realized that he’d slept the whole night.

 

Draco knocked on the door again, and Harry scrambled for a towel.

 

“Give me a minute, would you?” Harry called through the door.

 

He hadn’t brought any clothes with him when he’d gone to take a bath, so he grabbed an extra towel.

 

Harry crossed to the mirror and looked at his reflection. His hair looked much better curled, he thought. He was still so skinny, although his chest seemed to be filling out a bit. Or perhaps that was his willful imagination.

 

Harry tied the first towel about his waist and draped the second one over his shoulders so that most of his chest was covered.

 

Draco had started looking through the books Harry had taken down the night before, by the time that Harry had come out of the bath.

 

“I do believe that you owe me an apolog-” Draco cut off. “Did you er, forget something?”

 

Harry shrugged and opened his closet. “I fell asleep in the bath.” He looked back at Draco, who was already wearing his dress robes.

 

“Should I wear dress robes?” Harry asked.

 

Draco stared at him, as though he hadn’t heard him, and when Harry cleared his throat, he flushed bright red. “Er-” Draco cleared his throat. “Mother is going to have us dance together again. In our robes. So, yes.”

 

“Alright,” Harry said, as he pulled his clothes out of the closet. “I’ll just go put these on, then.”

 

“Right.” Draco swallowed. “Go, er- do that.”

 

Harry opened the door to the bathroom and slipped back in. This was so much stranger than he thought it would be.

 

The books all said that flushing, hardening of the genitals, and embarrassment indicated a young wizard had “become sexually active and aroused.” So, it stood to reason that Draco was attracted to him.

 

It was just bizarre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Nightmares, Mild Body Horror, Mentions of Murder and Death of a Minor
> 
> Chapter Summary: In this Chapter, Harry, after the previous chapter's events, is sleeping in a new bedroom. He explains that the room he is now sleeping in is specifically designated for the heir's fiancé, and that it is still decorated the way it was when it was Narcissa's room. He says that the silk sheets that are still on the bed remind him of a fall off of a broom he took in his nightmare, so he reads a book instead. The book describes the jobs that a consort has to take care of, including, and according to the book, most importantly, looking attractive. Harry, after reading the book, heads into the bathroom, and after finding Narcissa Malfoy has filled his vanities with hair and skin care potions, uses them to clean his skin and curl his hair. He then takes a bath to rinse the curling potion out of his hair, and falls asleep in the bath. While sleeping, he has a dream about the man he saw in his first nightmare, (although he does not recognize him) taking a newspaper from Cornelius Fudge. He sees the front cover, which showcases an article about Voldemort, but Harry's dream morphs, and he sees Voldemort as he was in the chamber of secrets. The dream morphs again, and Harry finds himself in the Chamber of secrets, watching Ginny Weasley cry. Voldemort comforts her, although he is still a memory, and when Harry's engagement announcement appears in her hands, Voldemort grows snake fangs and murders her. Harry notices that he cannot move because he is trapped in the Basilisk's coils. As the Basilisk is about to crush him, Draco knocks on his door and wakes him up. Harry realizes he fell asleep in the bath tub, and that he slept all night. Harry, however, has no clothes in the bathroom, so he wraps himself in towels as best he can, and goes to retrieve his clothes. Draco is obviously uncomfortable, and when Harry returns to the bathroom, he thinks about how bizarre it is that Draco is attracted to him.


	7. A Private Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’ve changed your hair," Draco said when Harry re-emerged.
> 
> "Good morning to you too," Harry replied, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to be so cavalier with Draco at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings and chapter summary are in the endnotes.

CHAPTER SEVEN: A PRIVATE AFFAIR 

 

Although Harry hadn’t actually thought it possible, his dress robes were more uncomfortable than they had been when Mr. Twilfit had made them. The dragon bone compressed Harry’s ribs something awful, and if Harry’s curls hadn’t been made artificially, they would have been the first casualty of the day, when he put his robes on.

 

As it was, the first casualty of the day was Harry’s time, since putting on his robes took almost twenty minutes. Looking in the mirror afterward, Harry had to admit that he looked nice, but perhaps not nice enough to sacrifice half of his ribcage in the endeavor.

 

But, Harry trooped on, and after taking a deep breath, he opened the door to his bedroom again. On the other side, Draco still looked rather uncomfortable, although he was more coherent this time.

 

“You’ve changed your hair,” Draco said when Harry re-emerged.

 

“Good morning to you too,” Harry replied, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to be so cavalier with Draco at the moment. Draco tended to go from flustered to angry very fast.

 

“You can’t be cross with me for not saying good morning when you forgot to get me a birthday present.” Draco sniffed.

 

Harry’s chest gave an odd little skip, and he forced himself to keep calm. “I certainly didn’t,” he said, as he pulled out his trunk from underneath his bed. “You’d never let me live it down if I did.” He undid the clasps on his trunk, and opened the top, before pulling out the parcel that he had kept there for the past month. It was the only place in the Slytherin dorm that Draco wouldn’t look, so, of course, Harry had stashed his birthday present there.

 

Thinking about putting the present there, before he’d been brought down to the Chamber of Secrets, made Harry’s stomach want to turn, so he staunchly ignored it, even if after last night, the image of bright fangs and blood kept flashing over and over again in his mind.

 

Harry squashed the images again and held out Draco’s present.

 

“Thank you,” Draco said, which was perhaps a new record for the number of times Draco had actually thanked someone. Two days in a row was certainly pushing it, Harry thought.

 

“You’re welcome.” Harry said, “And before you ask, it’s not a book.”

 

Draco snapped his mouth closed in a particularly unfamiliar move. Instead of making a snarky comment, Draco simply opened his present in near silence, only interrupted by the sound the wrapping paper made when it tore. From inside the parcel, Draco pulled a broom servicing kit.

 

Harry had found it in the catalog for a french broom shop, which someone had left lying about in the Common Room. It was apparently far superior to the British version, and included a coating for the bristles of the broom, to make it go even faster.

 

“I- thank you.” Draco coughed.

 

Harry couldn’t help himself. “Who are you, and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?”

 

Draco glared at him. “I do know how to say ‘thank you.’” He snapped.

 

Harry hummed at him, and Draco glared again.

 

“Mother wants us to go and dance.” He reminded him.

 

Harry knew better than to press his luck and made for the door.

 

“We should go flying later,” Draco told him, on the way down the stairs.

 

“Alright,” Harry said, although he really wanted to spend the afternoon in the library. Still, it was Draco’s birthday, and keeping Draco happy was the general theme of Harry’s life.

 

-

 

After dancing, Harry’s feet felt like lead bricks, and he was almost glad to go flying with Draco. Almost.

 

Thankfully, Draco was so preoccupied with how fast his broom could fly when he waxed the bristles, he spent almost the entire time showing off. Harry just stayed low and tried not to be sick all over the pair of Quidditch robes he’d borrowed from Draco.

 

As far as flying went, it wasn’t been awful.

 

Afterward, Draco had gone to take a bath, and although Harry would’ve liked nothing better than to spend the rest of the afternoon in the library, Lady Malfoy took one look at him coming back inside and looped her elbow through his.

 

“Charlus, dear, it’s very important to present a unified front at your engagement ball.” She said as she steered him up the stairs. “You both must look your absolute best.”

 

She led him back to his room, and told him, “Just sit on the edge of the bed, there.”

 

She disappeared into his bathroom, and Harry could hear the unmistakable clinking of potion bottles knocking against one another.

 

Harry wondered how often Lady Malfoy had stayed in this room. Had she lived in the Manor as well, or had she simply stayed here for a week or two during the summer hols?

 

The less time that she had spent here, Harry mused, the less bizarre it was. If she had lived here, it wasn’t all that unlikely to think that teenaged Lord and Lady Malfoy had engaged in “sexual congress” on the very bed that Harry was sitting.

 

That thought made Harry particularly uncomfortable, and he immediately tried thinking of something else.

 

His mind, unfortunately, landed only on Draco’s odd behavior that morning, and his nightmare. Harry steadfastly didn’t think about his dream, and instead tried to think what Draco thought of as being attractive about Harry.

 

He supposed, in a second-year sort of way, that he was nice to look at, but he looked so different from the Malfoys.

 

All the Malfoys had platinum blond tresses, pale skin, and fine features.

 

Harry held a hand out and really looked at it. He had very long fingers, although they were rather skinny. His wrist bone stuck out at a strange angle from the time that Dudley had almost broken it, but his other wrist looked perfectly fine.

 

His skin had gotten slightly lighter from spending the past few weeks inside, although it was a very dark tan. His hair, he knew, certainly looked better than it normally did. Normally, it was a frizzy mess, or it was slicked back. Now, with the fine ringlets of curls he had given himself the night before, his hair looked dignified.

 

Of course, there was the problem of his limbs to be dealt with. His arms and legs only seemed to get ganglier as time went on, although Harry could usually hide his unfortunate knobbly knees and sharp elbows with his robes.

 

“Charlus, come in here for a moment, please.” Lady Malfoy’s voice startled him out of his reverie, and he got up off the bed.

 

“Come here,” she said. “I see that you’ve curled your hair, which certainly suits you,” she smiled.

 

“Thank you, Narcissa,” Harry said, although his cheeks felt flushed from embarrassment. If Lady Malfoy had simply wanted to compliment him, she would’ve done it down stairs, or over tea. She clearly wanted to tell him what he’d done wrong.

 

“Although, perhaps we ought to focus more on your face.” She said as she pulled her wand from her sleeve. “Perhaps you’d like me to trim your eyebrows?” She asked although Harry knew, before she even said it, it wasn’t a question.

 

“Yes, thank you,” Harry said and closed his eyes when she ran her hand over his forehead. He didn’t particularly want to watch Lady Malfoy pull out parts of his eyebrows, although he certainly couldn’t have refused her.

 

“Relax, dear. It doesn’t hurt very much at all.” Lady Malfoy said.

 

As it turned out, it didn’t, although Harry wasn’t sure if it normally didn’t, or if Lady Malfoy had lied to him (which was likely, in most cases,) and his pain tolerance was higher than Harry thought it was.

 

Either way, Harry doubted he would figure it out anytime soon, so he stood there silently while Lady Malfoy trimmed his eyebrows, covered his face in potions to improve his complexion, and obediently cleaned his glasses when she told him to.

 

When Harry looked in the mirror, it was… Bizarre. He looked handsome. He looked like he had been raised in a manor- like he belonged in one.

 

“Why don’t you put your dress robes back on?” Lady Malfoy asked.

 

“Alright,” Harry smiled, although he didn’t particularly want to put the horrible dragon bone piece back on.

 

Lady Malfoy left Harry’s room with a quick, “I’ll go and see how Draco’s doing, shall I?”

 

Harry was grateful to be alone again, and he dressed very carefully, so as not to mess up any of the work Lady Malfoy had done.

 

Was this really what Harry wanted, though?

 

He sat down on the bed and wondered. Harry had grown up with the Dursleys, who had been awful to him, and who had treated him like a house elf. But now, here he was, odd little Harry Potter, sitting on a bed with silk sheets, wearing fine robes, and about to be announced as the fiance of the future Wizarding Lord of Wiltshire.

 

The future Wizarding Lord of Wiltshire, who loved him, but-

 

“Mother said you would still be in here.” Draco strolled into Harry’s room, wearing his dress robes, with his blonde hair freshly trimmed.

 

Harry snapped out of it and shook his head. “I suppose she would know, wouldn’t she?”

 

Draco gave him a strong look. “She did just see you, so yes, I suppose she would.”

 

Harry could kick himself. Why in the hell had he said that? Perhaps he hadn’t been thinking very favorably of Draco- no, why had he been thinking unfavorably of Draco in the first place? Draco had been right earlier- Harry had been awful to him lately.

 

“Sorry, I- sorry.” Harry stood up from the bed. “Do you know what time it is?”

 

“Five o’clock,” Draco told him. “Why?”

 

Harry wanted to just try kissing Draco, just to see if it would be better than it had been the first time.

 

Harry crossed the space between them, leaned forward, and kissed him.

 

This time, Harry kept his tongue firmly away from Draco’s mouth, because that had been very unpleasant, but he kept his mouth open. Draco seemed very surprised, and he didn’t kiss back for a heart-stopping moment.

 

But, Harry reassured himself, Draco had said he wanted to kiss Harry again- unless he’d changed his mind. Harry’s strange behavior that day, what he’d just said about his mother- that might have changed Draco’s mind, mightn’t it of?

 

Harry’s chest tightened, and when Draco wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist, he couldn’t tell if the reason that it felt good was because Harry actually wanted to kiss Draco, or because he had been terrified that Draco hadn’t wanted to kiss him.

 

But, it seemed, they both wanted to kiss each other, judging by the bizarre floating feeling that was settling in Harry’s stomach. Their tongues weren’t supposed to clash together, Harry reasoned, because when they didn’t touch very much when it was just Draco’s lips against his, or Draco’s tongue lightly running across Harry’s lip, it was- it felt good. It felt really good.

 

Was this what it was supposed to feel like? Because if it was- if kissing was supposed to send shivers down your back, or tingles through your scalp, it was- Harry couldn’t understand why people didn’t do it all the time.

 

Harry pulled away quickly. He’d been getting lightheaded, and thinking stupid things like that. People didn’t snog each other all the time because people had important things to do. Harry had important things to do.

 

But he looked at Draco, his lips curved into a jaunty smirk, and his resolve and his knees both went weak.

 

“Was that my second birthday present?” Draco asked, his usual ego apparently restored.

 

“I suppose it was,” Harry said. His voice sounded strange- it was raspier than usual.

 

“And can I expect another present later?” Draco asked although he sounded less confident this time.

 

“If you promise not to step on my feet,” Harry said.

 

“I have never-” Draco spluttered.

 

Harry laughed. It felt nice, to go back to the way they had been, even if Harry wondered if he would ever be able to do anything but agree with Draco without his stomach tying itself into knots.

 

Harry pulled Draco’s hand into his, although that still felt too personal- too personal after Draco had had his tongue in Harry’s mouth? Harry really should start laughing at himself, although he was sure people would stare if he was always laughing at nothing.

 

“The ball started at four-thirty, didn’t it?” Harry asked.

 

“That doesn’t mean we have to be there,” Draco argued. “We can stay here for a while.”

 

Harry laughed. “You just want to kiss me again.”

 

“It is my birthday,” Draco said. “Shouldn’t I be able to have whatever I want?”

 

Harry shook his head and looked at the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “We’re already forty-five minutes late.” He said. “Fashionably late only lasts so long, you know.”

 

Draco sniffed. “I suppose. Alright, then, come on.”

 

Harry looped his elbow through Draco’s, although this time it felt strangely too close. As though being so close to Draco would make it impossible to do anything, which was ridiculous. Harry had clearly been reading too many trite romance novels (although he’d only ever read one, but he steadfastly ignored that.)

 

Harry reminded himself to start on the left foot, and they made their way down the staircase. In the hours since they’d left that morning, the work wizards had completely transformed the main hallway. Where there usually was only one chandelier, the work wizards had hung an extra two, so that the light from each one reflected on the glass pieces of the others. It made the hallway look as though someone had cast strangely geometric lighting spells on the floor.

 

The hallway was entirely empty, except for one wizard, who wore black dress robes, with a collar that covered his entire throat, and held a rolled up sheet of parchment in one hand, and a self-inking quill in the other.

 

Harry wondered if anyone who had been invited had declined. He doubted it- the Malfoy balls were apparently famous, according to Draco. Although Draco was certainly biased, by the state of the ballroom, Harry was inclined to say he hadn’t been exaggerating.

 

The ballroom was packed with witches and wizards, all facing the doorway. Harry could see at least ten reporters, given away by their cameras and hovering quills.

 

When he and Draco appeared in the doorway, the crowd exploded with noise, and he was momentarily blinded by all the camera flashes. He tried to keep his eyes open, so he hoped it didn’t look like he was wincing in the photos.

 

From the front of the ballroom, Lord Malfoy tapped his spoon against his glass, and the crowd quieted down again.

 

“It is a great occasion,” he said, “to find a spouse for one’s child. We all hope to make our children happy, respectable marriages, but all too often, we find ourselves falling short of our own lofty expectations.”

 

“Which is why,” Lady Malfoy continued, “it is our great pleasure to introduce all of you, friends, family, and colleagues, to our son’s fiance, Charlus.”

 

“To have found a young wizard so fond of our son, who has grown so close to him over these past few years- it is every parent’s dream.” Lord Malfoy said. “I hope you will all join us in a toast to the health and happiness of their marriage, and their future together as the next Lord and Consort of Wiltshire.”

 

The light glinting off of several hundred glasses as they were raised was enough to light the stairwell, which, until then, had been relatively dim. From where they had been standing, Draco steered Harry down the stairs.

 

The crowd parted for them, and Harry focused on nodding to everyone he saw. Lady Malfoy had insisted on it that morning while they had been dancing.

 

When Harry looked over, he could see that Draco had puffed out his chest, so that he looked something like one of his father’s peacocks. Harry managed to only smile at him, although his stomach hurt from the effort of not laughing at him.

 

When they reached the table at the head of the ballroom, Lord and Lady Malfoy came around the ends of the table. Lord Malfoy clasped both of them on the shoulder while Lady Malfoy embraced them at the same time.

 

Harry could almost convince himself that Draco’s parents liked him- almost.

 

-

 

Dinner was a bizarre affair, where Harry felt a bit like a professor at Hogwarts- the entire ballroom had followed them into the dining room, and they all kept peeking at Draco and Harry.

 

He understood that they were the focus of the ball, but it was unbelievably strange to have a crowd of people who were interested in Harry, for any reason.

 

He was glad that Draco was the only one sitting next to him, though, because he sharply told him that Harry was using the wrong fork before Harry could embarrass himself.

 

Still, he had a hard time looking at Draco for a while after that, because he couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten something so simple.

 

He hoped that the reporters took that as shy affection. If they reported that they weren’t fond of one another, Harry couldn’t imagine what would happen. Would the Malfoys cancel their engagement? Would there be a scandal? Would-

 

Harry snapped out of it when Draco’s hand tightened around his underneath the table. “Stop it.” He whispered.

 

“Stop what?” Harry asked, although even as a whisper, he could hear that his voice sounded thick.

 

“Panicking,” Draco whispered.

 

Harry didn’t say anything to that, but he hoped that when he squeezed Draco’s hand back, it said the ‘thank you’ that his pride wouldn’t let him.

 

-

 

After dinner, they returned to the ballroom, and the conductor played the strangest waltz Harry had ever heard. Lady Malfoy was clearly displeased, but Draco didn’t seem to notice.

 

They were the only ones on the ballroom floor for the first waltz, and they twirled around the floor like a pair of professional dancers.

 

Harry focused on moving his feet in the same patterns as Draco’s, and steadfastly ignored the society witches who stared at him.

 

The dance after theirs was the “Courtship Dance,” where anyone who wasn’t engaged danced. The dancers ranged from a gaggle of ten-year-olds, with a majority of first, second and third years, with a fair few fourth years, and a very gangly looking seventh year who stepped on the feet of every one of her dance partners.

 

“That’s Lord Waldbury’s daughter,” Draco whispered. “After his son died of Dragon Pox two years ago, he had to legitimize her. No one wants to marry that,” Draco smirked, “especially not after her incident with Parkinson last year.”

 

“What did she do to Parkinson?” Harry whispered. He felt a bit bad, but gossiping about the unfortunate events in someone else’s life was a welcome change from hearing other people gossip about him, the way they had at Hogwarts.

 

“The day he legitimized her, his wife took her to have a whole new set of robes made. As they were going into the shop, though, she accidentally knocked over a street peddler’s cart of potions all over Parkinson, and her new dress robes. Parkinson’s mother couldn’t get her hair to grow back for weeks.” Draco pointed to Parkinson and the witch who stood next to her, who could only be her mother.

 

“And she’s still alive?” Harry asked. He found it hard to believe that Parkinson hadn’t hired an assassin after Waldbury had damaged her hair.

 

Draco just laughed and didn’t bother to hide it. “Literally, yes; socially, no.”

 

Harry wondered if that would have been his fate if he hadn’t agreed to marry Draco. The thought made him distinctly uncomfortable, and he decided not to think about it any longer.

 

-

 

They danced another four times before Lady Malfoy nodded approvingly at them, and they could make their escape, such as it was. The reporters would follow them wherever they went, so they certainly couldn’t leave the first floor of the manor.

 

Instead, Draco steered Harry outside, to the gardens.

 

“Ugh. You would think that father would have kept out the riff-raff papers,” Draco complained, as they tried to discreetly lose a particularly dogged photographer in one of the rose mazes.

 

“If he had, it would have looked less important,” Harry reasoned.

 

“The politics of publishing,” Draco sneered.

 

Harry hummed nonchalantly. His feet hurt, and he was sick of talking, but Draco had stayed in a relatively good mood all night, and Harry wasn’t about to let that change.

 

“Father says that even the Prophet is really just an over-zealous rag and that it-” Draco turned a corner of the maze, and nearly knocked into him.

 

Harry found himself with one-half of his body in a hedge, and the other half pressed against Draco.

 

“I, er-” Draco cleared his throat and helped Harry out of the hedge. “Do you- Can I kiss you now?”

 

Harry couldn’t help himself- he laughed. The bizarre, starstruck look on Draco’s face morphed into a scowl.

 

“No, don’t do that- I’m sorry, you just- I was surprised.” Harry stammered out.

 

“So?” Draco hissed. “You what, have to work yourself up to kissing me? You have to say over and over, ‘it’s worth it-’”

 

“Draco, you can’t get angry with me every time that I don’t do what you expect me to do!” Harry burst out.

 

The silence stretched out between them. Harry could have hit himself.

 

“I’m sorry, I-” Harry started to say.

 

“No, I-” Draco ran a hand over the back of his neck, which Harry had never seen him do before. “Mother said that I’ve been losing my temper too often, but I- You shouldn’t be afraid of me.”

 

“I’m not,” Harry said. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a lie. It just wasn’t entirely true, either.

 

“I want everyone else to be afraid of me,” He said, “they should be. I’m going to be a Lord, my family is the richest in Wizarding Britain-” Harry wasn’t sure if that was actually true, but he wouldn’t say otherwise, “they should all be tripping over themselves to please me.” Draco seemed to be talking to himself, mostly, and also mostly stroking his ego.

 

When he looked at Harry, though, he seemed to deflate. “But you were only ever interested in being my friend, and now, I hope in- something else.” He said. “You’re the only one I don’t want to be scared of me.”

 

Harry had no idea what to say to that. Draco had never been that honest with him. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever been that honest with him.

 

But honesty had never been a particularly Slytherin trait. Harry swallowed, and put his hands on Draco’s upper arms. “You’re going to be the wizard everyone wants to impress- and I’ll be the one who’ll be standing behind you,” Harry said.

 

Draco leaned forward and kissed him. This time, it was different. It wasn’t long, it was short and halting, but it was- it was the sort of kiss that Harry hoped one of the reporters got a picture of.

 

-

 

The ballroom was mostly empty when they returned from the garden- almost everyone there was crowded in the main hallway, where Arthur Weasley and six ministry workers were standing.

 

“This is a private affair,” Lord Malfoy said, “and absolutely nothing illegal is going on.”

 

“You’ve coerced a minor into an unlawful marriage, Malfoy,” Weasley said, wand in hand. Dread pooled in the pit of Harry's stomach, although he couldn't help but wonder why Weasley was there when he worked in some department for the protection of Muggles.

 

“Oh?” Lord Malfoy readjusted his posture, and Harry could see he had dropped his wand into his hand.

 

“You’ve coerced Charlus James Potter into marrying your son,” Weasley read off of a piece of parchment, which he had pulled from the pocket of his ministry robe.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Emotional abuse, child abuse, possible coercion, dissociation, anxiety and possibly abusive romantic relationships.
> 
> Chapter Summary: In this chapter, Harry emerges from his bathroom to find Draco still sitting in his room. They have a conversation about Harry forgetting Draco's birthday (which is mostly light-hearted teasing,) and go downstairs to practice dancing with one another (again.) Afterwards, they go flying, which makes Harry uncomfortable usually, but since Draco mostly just shows off, and leaves Harry to fly at a height where he is comfortable, Harry feels better about it. Post flying, Narcissa Malfoy insists that Harry come with her, and she spends several hours (which Harry mostly spends dissociating, and not reacting,) 'fixing' his appearance, including plucking his eyebrows. Narcissa leaves after she is finished, and while waiting, Harry wonders if marrying Draco is really what he wants. Draco enters Harry's room soon after that, however, disrupting Harry's train of thought, and Harry decides, after kissing Draco again, that it is what he wants. Whether this change of heart is because Harry is actually developing feelings for Draco, or because he is being conditioned to think he is, it is not clear. It is, by this time, early in the evening, and the ball celebrating their engagement has already started. The elder Malfoys make a speech about how happy they are that Harry is marrying Draco, and Harry is distinctly aware of the fact that the Malfoys do not, in fact, like him. He feels uncomfortable at dinner, and even feels grateful when Draco snaps at him for using the wrong silverware. He is constantly worried about embarrassing the Malfoys in front of the reporters who are there. After dinner, Harry and Draco dance and are then replaced by the un-engaged witches and wizards. Draco gossips about the only seventh year who is dancing, and Harry recognizes several aspects of his own life in her story. He is uncomfortable and chooses not to think about it. They dance again and then go outside. Harry is still worried about the reporters, and when he ends up being pushed into a hedge, he accidentally laughs at Draco when he asks to kiss him. Draco loses his temper with Harry, and they have a discussion about how Draco wants everyone else to be afraid of him- just not Harry. Harry lets Draco kiss them, and their conversation seems to have led to a streak of self-realization for Draco. When they return to the main hall, however, the focus shifts from their relationship to the arrival of Arthur Weasley and several Aurors. Harry is confused as to why Arthur is there, and scared when Arthur tells Lucius Malfoy that he has coerced a minor into marriage; the minor, of course, being Harry himself.
> 
> did i cliffhanger right


	8. Walking Through Wiltshire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do,” Harry said, after a swift second. It was true, kissing Draco had come to grow on Harry. He had no idea how, but Draco had seemed to develop some finesse at it, and now focused his efforts on distracting Harry from the way that his hands tended to fumble over his chest, his shoulders, or anything else they might reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings and the chapter summary are in the endnotes.

CHAPTER EIGHT: WALKING THROUGH WILTSHIRE

 

Harry could feel it when the room turned to look at him, as though he were one of the unfortunate ants that Dudley used to trap underneath looking glasses.

 

“I can assure you, Mr. Potter has not been coerced in the slightest.” Lord Malfoy sniffed.

 

“You can ask him yourself,” Lady Malfoy said, from where she had appeared behind her husband.

 

The crowd was still looking at him, and they parted almost immediately.

 

“Charlus, dear, come here for a second, won’t you?” Lady Malfoy asked.

 

Harry’s feet walked forward, but he felt like he was standing in place. This was all of Harry’s worst nightmares coming true. If the Malfoys had to choose between being arrested and Harry, he knew which option they would choose. He knew which option he would choose, and it certainly wouldn’t be himself.

 

“Now Harry, I’d-” Weasley started to say.

 

“My name,” Harry could hear himself say, “is Charlus.” His ears were ringing.

 

“...Charlus, then.” Weasley looked taken aback. “I would like you to take a truthfulness potion-”

 

“The use of Veritaserum on a minor is illegal.” Draco snapped.

 

“Not if the minor consents,” Weasley said. “All we want is to make sure that you’re safe,” he said to Harry.

 

“I’m perfectly fine.” Harry thought his voice had gotten higher. Was he just imagining things? “I would, however, be better if you left.”

 

Weasley gave him a sad look.

 

“If you have no evidence,” Lord Malfoy said, “then you have no case. As I said, this is a private affair, gentlemen.”

 

“Charlus, I know it can be scary to speak out against someone who’s hurt you-” Weasley said.

 

“No one here has hurt me,” Harry said. The implication that someone else had laid clear in the air.

 

One of the Aurors grasped Weasley’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear.

 

“We’re very sorry to have bothered you, then,” the Auror said, in a thick accent. Harry dully wondered if he was from the continent.

 

Lord Malfoy inclined his head, the barest hint of a sneer on his lips. Harry could feel fear curl in the bottom of his stomach like a snake. What if Lord Malfoy decided that the Ministry had caused too much trouble for him?

 

He couldn’t, could he? Not after his speech earlier, at least- he hoped.

 

Arthur Weasley left, with the Aurors- with one last look over his shoulder, at Harry, who was left to stew in his worry and self-doubt.

 

-

 

Although the ball had been set to continue throughout the rest of the night, Harry could feel the uneasy whispers amongst the crowd. Still, every witch and wizard there came about to congratulate Harry and Draco. Pansy Parkinson’s mother gave Harry’s hand her best effort, but she was stopped just shy of breaking it. Parkinson, strange enough, didn’t seem nearly as perturbed as Harry thought she would have been.

 

Rita Skeeter, the witch who wrote the most dreadful column of the Daily Prophet, took their picture, congratulated them, and then walked off abruptly afterward, muttering to herself about Harry’s eyes, while snapping at her quill.

 

“Father’s already paid her off,” Draco whispered. “She only gets the money if the article is flattering, though.”

 

Harry wondered how much money Lord Malfoy had thrown at the press over the years. It was probably more money than most wizards would see in their entire lives.

 

It had never truly struck Harry how fortunate he was to be marrying Draco until he was standing at the head of a long line of pureblood witches and wizards, some with children, and some without, who had all hoped to capture the position Harry had won through simply listening to Draco. Harry had, very suddenly, become a boy to be envied, not a charity case trailing along behind Draco. The sneering insults that Harry had heard in passing for the past two years, and the beatings he had received before that- those were things of the past, that would stay in the past.

 

If Draco was pleased with him, then Harry was worth a small country’s treasury in gold and favors. If he wasn’t, Harry was only worth a handful of Wizengamot seats.

 

-

 

Their courtship walks began the next morning, and Harry had spent the entire night with his stomach desperately trying to escape his body through the bottom of his abdominal cavity. If he could have gone with it, he thought, he might have let it.

 

It was cool, crisp morning, and the dew was still out on the roses when Draco finally woke up. Normally, Draco was fright in the morning, but he only told off three house elves, and then seemed to have righted himself. Harry thought the change rather odd, but he certainly wouldn’t object to it.

 

Both Lord and Lady Malfoy had decided to come with them, and they strolled along behind them at a leisurely pace, their cloaks brushing against the grass the only sounds they made.

 

Draco, on the other hand, was constantly muttering things into Harry’s ear as they walked.

 

“The muggles of the village were driven out during the fourteenth century,” he told him about one tiny village, and that the cottage they passed, where the owners gave Harry a bouquet of flowers, had once been the spot of twelve duels in one day, over the same witch.

 

Harry had thought that last bit was over exaggerated, at the time, but over the next week and a half, he and Draco walked past fifteen separate cottages with similar, if less flamboyant, histories. Apparently, duels had been the going sport of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and good-looking witches and wizards were often the cause of a dueler’s premature death.

 

That was, according to a book in the library that Harry later took out, the reason that marriage contracts were invented, to prevent the wizarding elite from slaughtering each other over a pretty face. Harry had certainly never thought of what might have caused the system, only the results, but he had been glad it had been implemented that day.

  
“Do you like kissing me?” Draco asked him, one morning, as they were lounging in the library. Lord Malfoy was off at the Ministry, and Lady Malfoy had decided that it was much too hot to go out walking that day, and had promptly disappeared into her study.

 

Harry looked up from the book he had been reading- he had taken to stopping when Draco talked to him, which kept Draco in a much better mood, although it infuriated Harry. Draco talked more than anyone Harry had ever met and having to stop every time Draco wanted to tell him something was beyond irritating.

 

Still, it seemed better than having to deal with Draco’s moods, and he had been trying to behave better, so Harry thought he might cut him a break.

 

“I do,” Harry said, after a swift second. It was true, kissing Draco had come to grow on Harry. He had no idea how, but Draco had seemed to develop some finesse at it, and now focused his efforts on distracting Harry from the way that his hands tended to fumble over his chest, his shoulders, or anything else they might reach.

 

Draco nodded, then went back to throwing his golden ball up in the air. Harry was sure, now, that Draco was doing it because he wanted to improve his seeking skills, because throwing it in odd ways and catching it with ease had become a near obsession with Draco.

 

Harry wondered why Draco had asked. Harry certainly hadn't voiced any displeasure at kissing Draco, and with Lady Malfoy’s help, Harry thought he was more than pleasant to look at. Harry had somehow become attractive, despite the gangly limbs that had always made him look mismatched.

 

Harry had taken to caring about his appearance after more than one pureblood witch had remarked that he was a very attractive young wizard. If that was something that made people realize that Harry belonged there- he should use it, shouldn’t he?  


It was another hour or so before Lady Malfoy interrupted them- she had a copy of the Prophet curled tightly in her hand, and a tight smile on her face.

 

“Boys,” she said, “why don’t you go upstairs for a while? It is so important that you spend enough time with each other now so that it won’t affect your studies this year.” She said.

 

Draco had sat up abruptly when his mother had come into the library, and he brushed himself off before he stood up. Harry quietly closed his book and stood up himself.

 

“Yes, Mother,” Draco said, as he left, although he did pocket the little gold ball. Harry was sure that Lady Malfoy was more concerned with the headline of the paper than she was with whether or not they spent enough time together, but who was Harry to say so?

 

Still, Harry caught a glimpse of the cover of the Prophet that made his blood go cold. The rest of the headline was obscured, but the piece that Harry could see loudly proclaimed “FORMER DEATH EATER ESCAPES-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: anxiety attack, self-worth and body image problems.
> 
> Chapter Summary: In this chapter, Harry insists that the Malfoys have not coerced him into marrying their son, Draco (although they have,) and is further 'courted' by Draco himself. The two have several conversations, in which Draco reveals that the history of marriage contracts comes from witches and wizards killing one another in duels over the favor of another witch or wizard, and their families needing a way to stop the violence. Harry is glad that they no longer duel for a witch or wizard's affections, and he does seem to have a healthier fledgling relationship with Draco, although this may be because Harry had sacrificed his own time and energy into making himself more attractive and attentive to Draco. At the end of the chapter, Harry sees the headline of the Daily Prophet, which declares that a Deatheater has escaped from Azkaban.


	9. An End To All Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh please,” Draco said. “You’re shaking like a Hufflepuff.”
> 
> Lady Malfoy’s decorum totally forgotten, Harry sat there doing his best fish impression, with his mouth hanging open. Draco had never been this observant- never.
> 
> “This doesn’t change anything, you know.” He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which draco is really gay for harry and also the firebolt and harry is pretty gay for draco but gayer for draco after draco is gay for the firebolt. (aka harry is jealous of a broom) that's it. that's the plot.

CHAPTER NINE: AN END TO ALL THINGS

 

If Harry had eaten a bit less that morning, he was sure he would’ve fallen down the staircase. He’d known this was coming, but that didn’t mean he’d been ready for it. If Death Eaters started breaking out of Azkaban, then it was a sure thing that Draco’s father would go back to being one- Draco too, when he was old enough.

 

Harry had no idea what that would mean for him, since his mother’s blood was certainly dirty enough. The Dark Lord himself was a half-blood, he knew, but of course that was a closely guarded secret, one that might land Harry with a proverbial noose around his neck.

 

All the way back to Draco’s room, Harry’s stomach busied itself with practicing its noose impression, the way it had been rather a lot, recently.

 

“Did you see what was on the front page of Mother’s paper?” Draco asked him, once they’d settled themselves on the chaise lounge in his room.

 

Harry tried to make it seem like his hands weren’t shaking. “The headline?” Harry asked.

 

“Mm. You know, it was only a matter of time. Now that Dumbledore’s been thrown out, their whole cause is a laughing stock.” Draco said.

 

There he was, Harry thought, Lucius Malfoy’s little mouth-piece. It took Harry a moment to let that sink in. He could feel the guilt plunge straight through him, afterward. He should never have even thought that not then, not ever- Merlin, if Draco’s father was about to have Death Eaters about, they could read his mind easier than they could apparate. Harry would have to make himself fall in love with Draco faster than a house elf could pop about the house.

 

He was sure he was shaking by now, and Draco seemed to notice it. “Come here,” he said, although it sounded more like a command than a request.

 

Harry moved over anyways.

 

Draco leaned over him, and kissed him. One of his hands curled in his hair, and the other pawed at his hip. Harry could scarcely feel it, the way he felt. He could feel the panic curling through his chest, his shoulders, and into his head. He could feel the pressure behind his eyes, even though they were closed.

 

Harry wrapped one hand around Draco’s shoulder and held onto him like he might just shake apart without him. His thoughts were just a blur, at this point- a speeding train through his head. He shivered, and Draco pressed up closer to him.

 

When Draco pulled away, Harry kept his eyes closed. Draco didn’t say anything, and Harry didn’t either. When Draco kissed his neck, though, Harry flinched. It was just the briefest jerk, but he knew, before he even opened his eyes, that it would send Draco into a horrible fit.

 

“You don’t have to be scared.” Draco murmured.

 

Harry thought he might fall over.

 

“I’m not-” Harry started to say.

 

“Oh please,” Draco said. “You’re shaking like a Hufflepuff.”

 

Lady Malfoy’s decorum totally forgotten, Harry sat there doing his best fish impression, with his mouth hanging open. Draco had never been this observant- never.

 

“This doesn’t change anything, you know.” He said. “After what Father said at the ball, he’d be an idiot to make me marry anyone else.”

 

Harry laughed a shocked, startled laugh, and snapped his mouth shut. “I think you’re the only person alive could call your father an idiot. ”

 

Draco sniffed. “I didn’t call my father an idiot, and I’m trying to be comforting. You’re making it very difficult.”

 

Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s neck. “Sorry.”

 

He didn’t feel comforted at all, but Draco snogging him was an alright distraction.

 

-

 

The rest of summer seemed to pass in a haze of paranoia. Once word got out that Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban, the wizarding world began watching the shadows for the specter of Black, or, even worse, in Harry’s opinion, the dementors that had followed him.

 

He’d never heard of dementors before that summer, but once he had, he was petrified. Not literally, of course, but Harry found himself watching the skies constantly. When they went out for their courtship walks, when Draco played Quidditch, even when they went out into the gardens.

 

To make things worse, puberty found Harry two weeks before his thirteenth birthday. Suddenly, he had to use his anti-acne potions twice a day, and taking a bath was a necessity every day, if he didn’t want his hair to look like an old oil rag. Then, there was Draco. He was certainly still Draco, and he was certainly still an arse at the worst of times, but... Harry thought his shoulders might have been the best thing to happen to wizardkind. And if Harry had to wake up to embarrassingly sticky sheets one more time that summer, he might as well kiss away any dignity he had left.

 

At least, he thought begrudgingly over breakfast one morning, Dobby wasn’t the one who collected his sheets in the morning. When he’d learned about Black escaping from Azkaban, he’d immediately blamed Harry, and had taken to showing up at odd moments, when Harry was least expecting it. One time, he’d popped in on Draco trying to convince him to let him feel him up under his clothes, and Harry had been absolutely sure that Draco was going to kill him.

 

The subsequent mood had lasted for three hours, and Draco had only stopped raging about the house looking for him when Harry had unbuttoned his collar and stood on the stairs for fifteen minutes, waiting for Draco to notice him. He hadn’t let Draco do anything more than kiss him, but it had worked well enough. Harry still wasn’t sure if he wanted Draco to touch him, quite honestly. Sure, his body wanted it, but he was only a third year. All the books said that a consort-to-be shouldn’t even consider letting their fiance do more than kiss them until they were at least in fifth year. Harry certainly wasn’t going to argue with the woman who’d written the book- after all, she’d been married to the Earl of Edinburgh for the past fifty years.

 

Besides- and Harry would certainly never admit to anyone else, but- he was scared. Draco was still Draco, and no matter how good Draco had gotten at snogging, and no matter how lovely Harry thought his shoulders were, he still flew into fits of rage at the slightest provocation, copied Harry’s History of Magic homework because he couldn’t be arsed to do it himself, and played Quidditch until he was sick with it. So Harry had to think very long and very hard about exactly how he wanted his life to go, and how he- Merlin help him- was going to handle Draco for the rest of it.

 

As for Sirius Black, Harry wasn’t particularly worried. Lord and Lady Malfoy had discussed him one night, when Draco had been mysteriously missing. Harry was sure that he’d been to see Parkinson or some other Slytherin who would let Draco feel them up. It had given Harry the peculiar advantage of being able to eavesdrop on Lord and Lady Malfoy, and it had helped to settle his nerves about the whole thing when Lady Malfoy had whispered that Black had never actually been a Death Eater. That was a bit worrying, because he hadn’t been able to hear anything more than that, but it had settled the horrible, niggling dread in the center of Harry’s stomach over whether or not the other Death Eaters would be taking up the mantle as well.

 

Although he did wonder why the Daily Prophet thought that Black was a Death Eater, if he hadn’t been. Death Eaters were never discovered until the end of the war, he knew, but how had the reverse happened to Black?

 

-

 

On July twenty-fifth, a week into Harry’s sudden entanglement with acne potions and sticky sheets, Lady Malfoy tucked both his and Draco’s arms into hers and apparated them into the Leaky Cauldron for the second time that summer. Lady Malfoy turned her nose up at the people in the inn, but Harry knew that she had apparated them there because it would be safer than to try and apparate into the street- especially with Black still on the loose.

 

Still, she rushed them out the door with a vengeance, and Harry didn’t even manage to catch the glimpse of the occupants that he had the month before. Diagon Alley, however, was just as colourful as the inn, on that day. There were gaggles of people crowded up against windows, with mothers keeping younger children in hand, while sixth and seventh years walked down the alley in enormous packs of people.

 

In one of the stranger moments of Harry’s life, Lady Malfoy and Draco stared at each other, both trying to make their opinions perfectly clear, not by, as Harry had first thought, reading each others’ minds, but by twitching their shoulders at one another, crooking their heads, and raising their eyebrows. Whatever it was that they were doing, it looked as though Draco had won, as he linked his arm through Harry’s, while Lady Malfoy kissed him on the cheek, muttered something, and disappeared into the crowd.

 

When they could no longer see the flashes of her robes in the crowd, Draco leaned over and asked, actually asked Harry, “Do you mind if we stop into the broom shop?”

 

“...Alright,” Harry said, after a beat. Someone jostled Draco, and before he could go off, Harry quickly tugged him in the direction of the broom shop.

 

-

 

Quality Quidditch Supplies, which was, as far as Harry knew, the only Quidditch shop in Wizarding Britain, was packed on the best of days. On this particular day, in the midst of someone escaping from Azkaban, and what was apparently the best racing broom in the world being released, the shop was literally overflowing with people. Harry found himself waiting in line, then being tugged, pulled, pushed, shoved and eventually just sort of moved along by the crowd. He lost track of Draco for a minute but caught up with him again in front of the display, which Draco was practically drooling over. The only other thing he ever looked at that intently was Harry- who he was, at that moment, ignoring. It made a pang of jealousy ring through Harry’s stomach. Which was totally irrational, because it was a broom. Harry might have actually slapped himself, if they weren’t in a shop full of people, and if Harry had even had the room to move his arm that far.

 

When Draco managed to get close enough to the broom, Harry saw that there were signs positioned on either side of the broom on display. On that side, the sign read:

 

THE FIREBOLT.

 

THIS STATE-OF-THE-ART RACING BROOM SPORTS A STREAMLINED, SUPERFINE HANDLE OF ASH, TREATED WITH A DIAMOND-HARD POLISH AND HAND- NUMBERED WITH ITS OWN REGISTRATION NUMBER. EACH INDIVIDUALLY SELECTED BIRCH TWIG IN THE BROOMTAIL HAS BEEN HONED TO AERODYNAMIC PERFECTION, GIVING THE FIREBOLT UNSURPASSABLE BALANCE AND PINPOINT PRECISION. THE FIREBOLT HAS AN ACCELERATION OF 150 MILES AN HOUR IN TEN SECONDS AND INCORPORATES AN UNBREAKABLE BRAKING CHARM.

 

PRICE UPON REQUEST.

 

Harry could only begin to imagine how much they wanted for a broom that had had each one of its twigs hand-picked. From the way that Draco was looking at it, though, Harry was pretty sure that he intended to find out.

 

Harry pushed closer to him, and as loudly as he could, asked him, “Would you like to get out of here?”

 

Draco, to Harry’s great surprise, waved his hand at him, as though he were dismissing him, and told him, just as loudly, “In a minute! I’d like to ask the shopkeeper how much they want for it.”


	10. The Dementors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People were passing by their compartment, but they couldn’t see their faces, and Harry figured he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. Crabbe and Goyle would find them eventually, and without anything else to do, Draco would spend the whole train ride talking about himself.

CHAPTER TEN: THE DEMENTORS

 

Although Draco didn’t buy the Firebolt, Harry was sure he was going to ask Lord Malfoy about it as soon as they returned to the Manor. Even Lord Malfoy, though, Harry thought, wouldn’t buy a thousand-galleon broom. That was more for one broom than what he’d paid for an entire team’s worth of Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones.

 

To Draco’s great chagrin, they’d have to come back to get their Hogwarts robes, just in case either of them grew in the last month of summer hols. Draco hated Madame Malkin’s shop with a passion, and he was horrible about having to buy new school robes every year. Harry thought that that was ironic, given that they’d met while being measured for robes.

 

But they did have to buy the rest of their school supplies that trip. Lady Malfoy had been worried that Diagon Alley would be too crowded in August and had taken them early.

 

“I want you to pick out something for your birthday,” Draco told him, once they’d gotten to Flourish and Blotts. It didn’t really surprise Harry that Draco hadn’t bought him any books for his birthday- he spent most of his time trying to get Harry to stop reading. Still, something about the way that Draco said it like it was already his money, and not his father’s- normally it would’ve made Harry laugh, but instead, it did strange things to his knees- it felt as though they were going to give out on him.

 

He just nodded- Harry couldn’t trust himself to make actual words come out of his mouth.

 

When they went inside, though, Harry didn’t get the chance to pick anything out- the manager, who looked harrowed, with holes in his sleeves, and several bite marks in his gloves came rushing up to them.

 

"Hogwarts?" he said abruptly. "Come to get your new books?"

 

“Yes,” Draco snapped. Harry really hoped that he wouldn’t go off on him. He’d already gotten someone fired that summer, and he really didn’t want to make a habit of it.

 

The manager took a second to glare at Draco, before he picked up a gnarled old walking stick, and approached a cage in the window behind him. Harry suddenly understood his horrible attitude- in the cage were about a hundred copies of the most bizarre books Harry had ever seen. They were each covered in fur, which hung off the edges, just at the level of the book’s mouth.

 

Harry pulled his booklist out of his pocket and checked it over- the books in the cage, he imagined, were for Care of Magical Creatures, which required “The Monster Book of Monsters.” The ugly things in the cage certainly matched that description.

 

The manager, when he opened the cage, first had to pry apart the books that were fighting each other, and then beat the one closest to him about with the walking stick, before he reached in and snatched it up. He very narrowly escaped being bitten by another book, and he slammed the cage shut once he’d gotten the book out. Then, before the book in his hand could recover itself, he slammed it onto the nearest table with one hand and grabbed a nearby leather strap with the other. Then, he tried to fasten the leather strap, struggled with the book a bit, and finally managed to get the leather strap all the way around the book.

 

By the end, the manager was panting, and sweating heavily. He handed the book to Draco with a wordless glare.

 

“We’ll need another copy,” Draco said. He even sounded a little sorry, although that might have been Harry’s imagination. Harry certainly felt horrible about it. He couldn’t imagine who would make a book that attacked people, much less assign it to third years.

 

“You’re kidding.” The manager said.

 

Harry shook his head.

 

The manager cursed under his breath and took a second to steady himself. Then, with no little amount of gusto, he strode back to the cage, ripped it open, and just as quick as a viper, snatched the first book he saw. This time, however, the books were waiting for him- one of them latched onto the side of his hand, and even through the gloves, Harry could see its teeth embedding themselves in the manager’s hand. He gave a little shout of pain and then began viciously beating the book with the walking stick.

 

It took the manager near a minute of beating to get the book to let go, and by then the other book had started struggling in his hand. When the book that was biting his hand let go, he slammed the cage closed again, grabbed a leather strap and crushed the book to his chest. He wrapped the strap around the back and then manhandled the book until it was all tied up. Then he turned and handed the book to Harry, before stalking off to, presumably, go and see to his hand.

 

“Who did you say taught Care of Magical Creatures, again?” Harry asked.

 

“Professor Kettleburn,” Draco said.

 

“He has a terrible sense of humor,” Harry said.

 

Since the manager had left, Harry found himself searching for his own textbooks, although that wasn’t really a burden. All of the main classes- Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration and the like- were laid out on the front table, so Harry decided to get those last. The rest of his books he had to go find, which led him to both the history section, and the Arithmancy section.

 

Harry needed several books for Ancient Runes, including a Runic dictionary, which weighed more than almost any other book Harry owned.

 

“Honestly, I don’t know why you’d want to take Ancient Runes. Even Arithmancy is a stretch, but I suppose it could come in handy.” Draco groused. “But when do you think you’re ever going to use runes? I highly doubt that they’re important for planning balls or shopping.”

 

Harry took a deep breath. He really didn’t want to get into a row with Draco over runes, especially when his birthday was in less than a week.

 

“Help me find Numerology and Grammatica, would you?” Harry asked.

 

Draco scowled. “Fine. I’m still right, even if you ignore me.”

 

-

 

Between the two of them, their school books must have weighed half a stone. The books that Draco bought Harry for his birthday had to be sent back to Malfoy Manor via owl, and Harry felt so horrible for the manager that he left him three galleons.

 

They went to the Apothecary before lunch, then ate finger sandwiches at a tea shop across from Twilfitt and Tattings. A reporter discretely took their picture while Draco was telling him his Quidditch plans for the year, and Harry hoped he didn’t look like he was going to fall asleep in it.

 

Lady Malfoy came and collected them after lunch, and they apparated from the tea shop, rather than going back to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry was a little disappointed, but he supposed he had better things to do than ogle at people in an inn.

 

-

 

The last month of summer hols passed in a flurry of activity. Harry had had his summer essays done halfway through July, and if he hadn’t, he probably never would have. Once the initial shock of their engagement was over, most of the Slytherins in their year began showing up at Malfoy Manor at odd times of the day. Crabbe and Goyle would almost always come together, and when Lady Malfoy wasn’t insisting that Crabbe (who had very quickly told them she was a girl, the day before she had come to the Manor for the first time,) let her do her hair for her, they would go out and play Quidditch with Draco for hours at a time.

 

Harry, who’d realized at the beginning of second year that watching Quidditch couldn’t be faked, liked to sit on one of the stone benches by the manor and watch the way that Draco’s shoulders looked when he’d reach out for the snitch.

 

Draco had once caught him staring, and instead of saying anything about it, had waited until they’d finished, and then cornered Harry in his room, still wearing his Quidditch robes, and snogged him senseless. He hadn’t even said anything, which was probably why Harry kept thinking about it for a week and a half.

 

Even Parkinson showed up, although she mostly ignored Harry. It seemed that she and Draco were just very strange acquaintances because Parkinson liked girls. It certainly explained why she hadn’t been cross when they’d gotten engaged, but Harry still tried not to be there when she was. She wasn’t horrible, she was just a gossip, and Harry found he really only liked gossip when Draco told it to him.

 

He knew that was hypocritical, but it didn’t help that Parkinson was totally indifferent to him.

 

Theodore Nott showed up occasionally, and Harry would usually spend an hour or two talking about books after he and Draco would play chess. It drove Draco crazy to be ignored, but Harry could only put up with it for so long, and he liked talking to Nott. Besides, it couldn’t hurt Draco to hear about books sometimes.

 

-

 

The day that they went back to school dawned cold and rainy, and Lady Malfoy insisted that they both wear traveling cloaks to King’s Cross. Lord Malfoy fixed his hair while they put them on, and then the elder Malfoys each grabbed an arm, and they went spinning off to London.

 

Harry found that he didn’t mind apparating, the more he did it. Still, he never really got used to the way that his stomach gave a little flip when they landed. It was certainly better than a muggle bus, though, so he mostly tried to ignore it.

 

“Now, darling, you haven’t forgotten anything, have you?” Lady Malfoy asked Draco, once they’d righted themselves from their apparation.

 

“No, Mother,” Draco told her. If it’d been anyone else, Harry was sure he would have rolled his eyes.

 

Lady Malfoy hugged him, and kissed him on both cheeks. It suddenly occurred to Harry that Draco was almost as tall as his mother.

 

Once she’d finished fixing Draco’s robes, Lady Malfoy gave him a hug and kissed him on one cheek. When she leaned in to kiss the other, she said, “Do try not to let him embarrass himself,” and pulled away. Harry had no idea how to respond to that, so he just gave her a minute nod of his head.

 

As always, Lord Malfoy clapped him on the shoulder, although this year he didn’t say anything at all. He did take Draco by the shoulder, and they went off to talk.

 

When they came back, nearly five minutes later, Draco looked very pleased, although Harry couldn’t imagine what they’d been talking about.

 

Still, he figured there was no use trying to get it out of Draco, and just followed him onto the train. If he wanted to tell him what his father had said to him, Draco would. If he didn’t, Harry would never get it out of him.

 

Normally, Draco would search the train for Crabbe and Goyle, but he just pushed Harry into the first empty compartment he found.

 

“Don’t you want to sit with other people?” Harry asked him.

 

“Crabbe and Goyle ruin the mood,” Draco said, as he pushed Harry onto one of the seats.

 

Harry nearly toppled over, but he just caught himself on Draco’s shoulder. He really liked kissing Draco, he’d found, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it in a train compartment. What if someone really awful walked in on them, like the old trolley witch, or Weasley? Merlin, he’d never live it down.

 

He nearly told Draco that, but he cut him off by pressing him into the seat. The way that Draco was looking at him like he was the last drop of water in the desert, made his stomach feel like it was flying.

 

He reached up and tangled his hand in Draco’s hair, which, Harry had to admit, he liked better loose. Draco leaned forward, one hand on his hip, and one leg under Harry’s, and kissed him. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but Draco had learned how to lick Harry’s teeth, which should’ve been awful, but was so, so far from it, that he might as well have given Draco a key to his mouth.

 

They hadn’t been terribly early, so by the time that he and Draco broke apart, the train was already pulling out of the station. Draco looked out the window for a second, then went back to pawing at Harry’s hip. He didn’t mind terribly, although he thought he should probably fix Draco’s hair at some point- it was all crowded off to one side, where Harry’d had his hands tangled up in it.

People were passing by their compartment, but they couldn’t see their faces, and Harry figured he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. Crabbe and Goyle would find them eventually, and without anything else to do, Draco would spend the whole train ride talking about himself.

Harry ran his hands over Draco’s shoulders, and Draco went back to snogging him for a while.

 

-

 

It was easy to lose track of time when Draco was snogging him, but by the fifth or sixth time that they’d broken apart, Harry’s lips were kiss-bruised, and it struck him that Crabbe and Goyle really should have found them by then. He knew that Crabbe and Goyle were smarter than they let on, but they seemed sort of lost when Draco wasn’t around. He couldn’t imagine what they were doing without him there for nearly half the train ride.

 

Harry nearly asked Draco if he’d like to go find him, but before he could, the train began to slow down.

 

“We can’t be there already,” Harry said, as he peered out the window. It didn’t look like they were anywhere near Hogwarts- in fact, he wasn’t sure that they were even in Scotland yet.

 

“Hmm,” Draco hummed, noncommittally, before he leaned in to try and kiss him again.

 

Harry pushed his shoulder back with his hand. “Stop it, I want to know what’s going on.”

 

He nearly clapped a hand over his mouth- Draco wouldn’t let anyone talk to him like that, not even if he were snogging them.

 

But he just scowled and sat up. “Fine,” he said, and he stalked over to the compartment door.

 

Draco slid open the door, and stuck his head out, turning one way and the other.

 

Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

 

Harry heard Draco slide the door closed, and he reached out his hand so that he’d know where he was going.

 

“What was that?” Harry asked although he didn’t think Draco knew any better than he did.

 

“The train’s probably broken down,” Draco said.

 

Draco’s stomach bumped into Harry’s hand, and he slid back to where he’d been sitting.

 

“They ought to just let us apparate, honestly.” He said. “The only reason they don’t is because of the damned mudbloods.”

 

Harry nodded, then realized that Draco couldn’t see him, and hummed, instead.

 

“Malfoy?” Goyle’s voice asked from the door.

 

Draco huffed, just loud enough that Harry could hear him, and as far as Harry could tell, turned towards the door. “Where’ve you two been?” He asked although Harry knew that he didn’t even want them there at the moment, much less earlier than that.

 

“Parkinson saw me, and she’s been trying to braid my hair,” answered Crabbe.

 

The door slid shut with a click, and Crabbe and Goyle’s footsteps broke the silence, as they tried to stumble over to the other seat. Since they still couldn’t see each other, Harry reached over and fixed Draco’s hair.

 

“What d’you think stopped the train?” asked Goyle.

 

“Shoddy workmanship,” Draco sniffed. “They probably had muggles build it for them.”

 

Draco settled back into the seat, and his shoulder bumped up against Harry’s, right before he wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist. It wasn’t comfortable, but that was more the seat’s fault than Draco’s.

 

“Father always says that-” Draco suddenly cut himself off, as the compartment door began to slide open again. Instead of another Slytherin, though, a grisly looking hand slid through the door, gripped it tightly, and shoved it into the wall.

 

There in the doorway stood a dementor. Harry’d seen one in the Prophet, but the picture hadn’t done it justice. Even in the dark, Harry could see the horrible face that laid right beneath the tattered black robes. The dementor’s mouth was entirely toothless, and without any lips, it's rotten gums were protruding from its face.

 

Draco shoved himself closer to him, although Harry couldn’t tell if he was trying to protect Harry or to get away from the dementor.

 

Then, it opened it’s mouth, and the room got even darker. Harry began to shiver, and before anyone could do anything, the dementor slid further into the compartment and breathed in.

 

Harry’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he couldn’t see anything. It was all black, and there were people screaming. He felt like his head was rattling like their screams were bouncing around on the inside of his skull. Harry felt as though someone had poured water into his lungs, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe, like he was drowning, and he wasn’t coming up-

 

And then suddenly, someone was there, pressing their hands to his chest.


	11. The Defense Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry shook himself. He thought about Longbottom, down in the Chamber of Secrets, telling him he wished he’d died instead.
> 
> Draco stood in front of Longbottom on the steps up to the school, smiling like someone had given him all his Yule presents.
> 
> “Shove off, Malfoy,” Weasley snapped, his jaw clenched so tight that Harry thought he might break a few teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what, two chapters in one week? who am i and what have i done with al, honestly.
> 
> on a more serious note, i've just got a couple things to say about commenting, which i'm going to put into the end notes. please read them?

CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE DEFENSE PROFESSOR

 

Harry opened his eyes; there were lanterns above him, and the floor was shaking- the train was moving again and the lights had come back on. He seemed to have slid out of his seat onto the floor.

 

“Harry?” There was someone above him- no, two someones. Draco had crouched down next to him on one side, and on the other was a scroungy looking wizard with ratty robes and a wide scar over the bridge of his nose, who had both of his hands on top of Harry’s chest.

 

Harry couldn’t remember how he’d gotten on the floor for a minute, and then he remembered the dementor, and he scrambled backward, away from both the strange man and the door.

 

“They’re gone,” Draco said, voice quiet. He dropped down onto his knees and reached a hand out towards him.

 

Draco certainly wasn’t the person who Harry would count on to protect him, but he was sure that he looked like an absolute nutter, pressed up against the wall like a cornered rat.

 

He shuffled forward, onto his knees, and tried to stand up. He only made it as high as the seat, though, before his knees gave out from underneath him.

 

The wizard with the ratty robes pulled something out of his pocket and broke off a piece from it.

 

"Here," he said to Harry, as he handed it to him. It was a piece of chocolate. He broke off smaller pieces and handed them to Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.

 

"Eat it. It'll help." Harry took the chocolate but didn't eat it.

 

"How did it get on the train?" he asked Lupin. His voice was hoarse and shaky, as though he had a horrible cold.

 

"They were looking for Black," said Lupin.

 

"Eat," he repeated. "It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me.” And with that, the strange man disappeared.

 

Draco was still on the ground. He was staring at Harry with the strangest look on his face as if he were a ghost or something.

 

Harry shivered and bit off a piece of the chocolate the wizard had given him if only so he wouldn’t have to say anything.

 

As he ate the chocolate, the warmth crept back into his hands and feet and back up through his whole body.

 

“You should eat it,” Harry muttered.

 

Draco seemed to snap out of his strange trance because he suddenly bolted upright. He swayed on his feet, then righted himself, and sat down hard next to Harry.

 

As he ate the chocolate, Harry pulled Draco’s hand into his and wrapped their fingers together.

 

It took a minute, but Draco slowly seemed to come back to himself. Crabbe and Goyle were staring at each other as though they’d never seen one another before, Draco squeezed his hand, and cleared his throat.

 

“We should be there soon,” he said, as though he hadn’t said that just before the train had broken down.

 

Crabbe and Goyle nodded like puppets with their strings cut. Draco untangled his hand from Harry’s and wrapped his arm around his waist again. Harry didn’t say a word- just let himself be tugged into Draco’s side.

 

Draco made half-hearted attempts at conversation, but the rest of the train ride was eerily subdued.

 

-

 

Once the train pulled up to the station, everyone was in a great hurry to get off. Crabbe and Goyle, who were just as bulky, if not bulkier than ever, shoved people out of the way left and right, and they got off the train in no time at all.

 

Even outside of the train, though, Harry felt a bit haunted. The rain was coming down in sheets, and by the time that they had gotten to the carriages, they were all soaked through. Harry was distracted, for a minute, by how wet his hair had gotten, but once he stopped paying attention to his hair, he realized that something was wrong.

 

The invisible horses that pulled the carriages, were not, in fact, horses, or invisible. They were horrifying, bony things, with spines that stuck out at odd angles, and wings so thin that they might as well have been made of parchment.  

 

“Are you coming?” Draco snapped, although it was lackluster at best.

 

“Yes, I- Yes.” Harry hurried into the carriage, and when they reached the school, he steadfastly didn’t look at the horrors that were pulling the carriages. If Harry had started seeing things because of the dementor, then no one else had to know that, especially not Draco.

 

The ride up to the school was worse than it had been the previous year- the carriage rattled and thumped every time it hit a pothole. Since it was raining, they seemed to have doubled since the year before.

 

When the carriage rattled through the gates, Harry got another terrifying look at a dementor’s face, as it leaned in close to the carriage window. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and never get out again and shifted closer to Draco’s side. He moved away once they’d passed the gates, but Draco had his hand in a death-grip.

 

When they got out of the carriage, Draco finally let go of his hand, although Harry almost wished he hadn’t. He was acting like a trembling five-year-old, but his hand hurt now, and he had to put himself back together.

 

When Harry got out of the carriage, Crabbe and Goyle right behind him, Draco was scanning the crowd of carriages for something or another. After a minute, it seemed he found it, because he crooked his fingers at Crabbe and Goyle, and set off toward one of the carriages. And although Harry really wanted to leave them to it, and go inside, he trudged off after them.

 

He found them outside of Weasley and Granger’s carriage, and as Harry got closer, Longbottom came out as well.

 

As Longbottom stepped down, Draco asked him, in a drawling, delighted voice that he’d gotten from his father, "You fainted, Longbottom? You actually fainted?"

 

Harry was suddenly, irrationally angry for a minute. He had fainted, did that mean that Draco was going to make fun of him as well?

 

Harry shook himself. He thought about Longbottom, down in the Chamber of Secrets, telling him he wished he’d died instead.

 

Draco stood in front of Longbottom on the steps up to the school, smiling like someone had given him all his Yule presents.

 

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Weasley snapped, his jaw clenched so tight that Harry thought he might break a few teeth.

 

“What’s the matter, Weasley? Did you faint as well?” Draco sneered. “Did the big, bad dementor scare you too?”

 

"Is there a problem?" asked a mild voice. The wizard with the ratty robes climbed down from a carriage across from them, and Draco sent a wild-eyed look at Harry, as though the strange wizard would tell Longbottom that he’d fainted as well.

 

“Of course not- professor.” Draco sneered at him, but he stepped down. Once Longbottom, Granger, and Weasley had gone into the entry hall, Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and tugged him inside as well.

 

They filed inside the school, and one of the professors must have had the foresight to put a drying charm on the great doors because the water on Harry’s robes disappeared as soon as they were inside.

 

Draco seemed in a better mood, and they climbed up to the great hall with their hands held tight together. Crabbe and Goyle were just behind them, and between the three of them, Draco with his sharp elbows and sharper tongue, and Crabbe and Goyle with their muscles, they managed to get the same spot as they’d had the last year.

 

It was a perfect spot to see all the first-years before they were sorted. The older Slytherins liked to bet on who would make which house, and Draco prided himself on winning fifteen galleons the year before. Although, not that he’d ever tell anyone, more than half of his winnings were because of Harry.

 

In between telling anyone who would listen about Longbottom fainting, Draco managed to win twenty-five galleons on a skinny girl with long, dark hair who ended up in Ravenclaw, a short and stocky boy who ended up in Gryffindor, and a tall boy with frizzy hair who took five minutes to be sorted, before ending up in Hufflepuff.

 

Once the sorting was finished, Professor McGonagall, who, at least for the year, had been named Headmistress, stood up to make the start of term announcements.

 

“Welcome to Hogwarts.” McGonagall’s thin voice carried over the hall, “As we begin this year, I would like to take the time to make a few announcements.”

 

She cleared her throat, and drawing a great roll of parchment from her sleeve, began to read. “No students are allowed in the Forbidden Forest, at any time, unless with direct permission and supervision by a professor. Here at Hogwarts, there is an extensive list of products which have been banned, including Frizzing Whisbees, all of which can be found on Mr. Filch’s door. Mr. Filch also asks me to remind you that magic is not allowed in the hallways between classes.”

 

Professor McGonagall paused to adjust her spectacles, and then said, “As you all know by now, the Ministry For Magic has sent the dementors of Azkaban to guard the entrances of our school. Although the Minister For Magic has assured me that the dementors will not interrupt classes or any extra-curricular activities, dementors are very dangerous creatures. It is for that reason that I ask you all to be extremely careful in their presence and give them no reason to harm you.”

 

McGonagall stopped for a moment, to let that sink in, and then rolled up the roll of parchment.

 

“On another, less serious note, I would like to introduce our two newest professors.” She waved to the table behind her, towards the strange wizard from the train. “Professor Lupin, who will be filling the Defense Against the Dark Arts position,” Then, she pointed to the other end of the table, to Hagrid, the great bearded man who lived in a hut on the grounds. “Rubeus Hagrid will be taking the position of Care of Magical Creatures professor, in addition to his duties as groundskeeper.”

 

The Gryffindors went crazy, as they shouted and whooped at the groundskeeper. Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Next they’ll be letting the owls teach classes.”

 

“And now, I invite you all to tuck into our fabulous supper.” Professor McGonagall tucked the roll of parchment back into her sleeve and sat down at the high table.

 

The plates began to fill with food, and Harry helped himself to a steak.

 

-

 

After the feast that night, the third-year Slytherins filed down to the common room, along with everyone except the first years. Draco always went down to the dorm first, so that he could claim whichever bed he thought was the best. Harry’d gotten the bed by the back wall, and he didn’t bother changing beds. Draco took the bed next to his and left Nott’s trunk at the foot of the bed by the door.

Harry was sure that Draco would want to go out and claim one of the couches, but instead, he just flopped down on Harry’s bed and started tossing his golden ball.

 

Harry laid down next to him with his Ancient Runes textbook.

 

“Merlin, you’re not actually reading that, are you?” Draco asked once he looked up from catching the ball.

 

“It’s interesting.” Harry sniffed.

 

Draco rolled his eyes and tossed the ball up again.

 

Harry’d spent the entire summer interrupting his reading to listen to Draco, so when Draco didn’t say anything else, he stopped paying attention to anything other than his Ancient Runes textbook.

 

While Harry was distracted, though, Draco’d wrapped his arm around his shoulder, and pressed up against him.

 

“Malfoy, you’re not shagging Potter in the dorm, no matter how many balls your parents invite me to.” Zabini snapped, as he came in.

 

Harry startled, and looked up from his book.

 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Zabini.” Draco sniffed.

  
Harry still shifted his leg away from Draco’s before he went back to reading his book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these smol gays will be the death of me, i stg.
> 
> So, (and you'll notice I'm breaking out the capitalization for this one,) commenting on a fic is always a little bit of a gamble. I get that. It's nerve wracking, it's kind of scary, and some authors get really mad when you say something they don't like. Here's the thing, though: most people, when they write, pour certain aspects of themselves into their work. JK Rowling, for example, based two out of her three main characters partially off of aspects of her own personality. Anna Karenina was inspired by Tolstoy's struggle with religion. So, there are certain things that authors spend a lot of time agonizing over putting into a fic, because they're part of them. Parts of this fic are things from my actual life- the child abuse, the emotional abuse, the way that Harry has panic attacks, how he learns to kiss, and, getting to the point of this, growing up as a queer kid. 
> 
> So, this isn't in response to one particular comment, it's in response to several comments that I've just kind of let go, throughout these past three fics. And those comments are about not wanting 'everyone' in the fic to be queer. Let me be clear about something: Queer characters are NEVER a plot device in my fics. Trans characters are NEVER a plot device. There are a lot of queer kids in this fic because there are a lot of queer kids in real life. Society in general, and media in particular, teaches us, from a very young age, that queer people are not the status quo- that we're not normal, no matter what their particular opinion on us is. This is a lie. This is also called heteronormativity, the idea that, essentially, everyone is assumed straight until proven otherwise. That is bullshit. It's not true, and it's so harmful to queer kids to grow up thinking that their very existence is a little weird. So, when you read fanficions and you think, "God, there are so many people who are gay in this fic, that's out of character," remember that when you leave fanfiction, almost all the media around you will still have straight people. It will still have cisgender people, and it will have both of these groups in abundance. When we leave fanfiction, we are faced with the exact same media, but it is so different for us. Trying to find media that reflects our lives, that has characters who are overtly like us, and not just queer-coded, or hinted to be queer but never confirmed, is so hard, especially because being gay, or being trans, or being bi, or being ace, or being aro, or being pan, or being demi, or being agender, or nonbinary, or two-spirit, or genderfluid, or grey-ace- it's already hard. Just this year, the largest shooting in the U.S., EVER, happened in a gay nightclub. What a lot of straight people don't know, is that we couldn't donate blood to the victims of that shooting. As our people, our loved ones, our friends, our family were laying in the hospital, possibly dying, we COULD NOT DONATE BLOOD, even if we were a match. By being gay and sexually active, or being trans and JUST EXISTING, we were ineligible to give blood. Queer youth are twice as likely to be depressed or suicidal as their peers, and at least one in every ten trans women will be murdered. So when you complain that a fic is 'too queer,' I want you to think about that. Think about being afraid to kiss your significant other in front of your parents, out in public, because you might be disowned, or shot. Think about not being able to even exist as the person you know you are, because other people tell you you aren't. Think about having seven cousins, like me, four of whom are queer, and having to hear people tell you that it's 'ridiculous,' or 'weird' to have so many queer characters in something I write. You think about that, because we will. We do, every day. So just let us write fics that represent our world, and we'll let you write yours. Because we never come into your spaces and say, "Oh, there are too many straight people in this fic." That doesn't happen. So please, next time you want to write a comment like that, think about it. Also, next time someone says it, I'm going to delete it, because I want queer readers to feel comfortable here, not like they have to prove why I should make their favorite character, or the character that they identify with, queer, in the face of just going along with 'the ways things are supposed to be,' and making them straight. 
> 
> aight, al's angry gay tirade is over, tune in next week for more smol gays and big problems.


	12. Parkinson's Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only person who finished before them was Granger, so Draco started doodling on a spare sheet of parchment as they waited for the rest of the class to finish. Harry drew a little dragon on the corner of it, and Draco stopped doodling to watch him do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> normal life at hogwarts (or as normal as it gets) ft. the Slytherin girls

CHAPTER TWELVE: PARKINSON'S QUEST

 

The next morning, Draco, who’d been kicked out of Harry’s bed by one of the dormitory charms, was in a foul mood and even watching Harry do his hair that morning didn’t make him feel any better. Goyle, who looked a bit out of his element without Crabbe there with him, wisely kept his mouth shut, and Harry just nodded along with whatever Draco was saying, which, admittedly, wasn’t much.

 

Crabbe met them in the common room, her hair in one long, perfect braid, but her eyes ringed in dark shadows. “Parkison is going to be the death of me,” was all she had to say, and Harry’d never been more surprised than he was when Draco said, “I’ll talk to her if you like.”

 

Crabbe, too, looked like a light breeze might knock her over. “Thanks,” she grunted, and then, when one of her dorm mates shot her a look across the room, cleared her throat. Harry, who’d never really been close to either Crabbe or Goyle, felt a sudden pang of sympathy for her. He was sure that everyone had spent the summer poking and prodding her into being as ladylike as possible, even though she was only just figuring out how to express herself as a girl.

 

Harry even went so far as to offer, in passing, “You know, I could go over your summer homework if you like.”

 

Crabbe nodded, shock painted all over her face, and held out her arm for his bookbag, the way she might have the year before, before Daphne Greengrass, a pretty dark haired girl who slept in Crabbe’s dorm, shook her head at her. “Sorry,” said Crabbe, but Harry was pretty sure she was apologizing to him, and not to Greengrass.

 

Once they’d gotten down to the Great Hall, however, Draco perked up and distracted everyone at the Slytherin table (including Crabbe’s dormmates,) by telling them the elaborate story of what he thought had happened to Longbottom the night before.

 

Longbottom himself showed up in the middle of Draco telling them that Longbottom had probably fallen on Weasley, and had a few galleons nicked from him for his trouble.

 

As Weasley, Longbottom, and Granger passed, Draco did his best impression of a swooning fit and everyone, including Harry, burst out laughing. Harry was still trying not to think about the dementors, and laughing at Longbottom was making him feel better about the whole thing, although he could feel the guilt curling in the bottom of his stomach.

 

"Hey, Longbottom!" shrieked Parkinson, who Harry had never seen shout in her life. "Longbottom! The dementors are coming, Longbottom!"

 

The crowd around her howled with laughter, although Harry didn’t think it was nearly as funny as Draco’s involved bit about Weasley confusing Granger’s new cat for her hair.

 

Crabbe didn’t either, he supposed, because she dug her work from summer hols out, and asked Harry if he could go over her Potions essay.

 

It was, in a word, horrible, but Harry tried not to hold that against her- unlike Harry, Professor Snape didn’t hate her, and so she really hadn’t had any reason to try harder. Still, Harry spent fifteen minutes fixing up her essay for her, before Professor Snape started down from the teachers’ table, one arm full up with a stack of parchment.

 

Harry hurriedly gave Crabbe back her essay and busied himself with buttering a scone, so that Snape wouldn’t have an excuse to give him detention. Harry’d so far managed to earn near-perfect marks in Snape’s class, which was probably the only reason Snape hadn’t tried to chuck Harry off the Astronomy Tower.

 

He looked like he wanted to when he handed Harry his schedule, but Harry took it with a “Thank you, Professor,” so polite that not even Snape could find fault with it.

 

He didn’t particularly want the scone, so he set it back down on his plate, and stood up to go and find his Arithmancy classroom.

 

“See you at lunch,” Crabbe told him around a mouthful of toast. Parkinson glared at her, and she gulped nervously.

 

“You want to walk up with me?” He asked her.

 

She nodded eagerly, and although Draco gave him a strange look, no one else seemed to notice as they left.

 

-

 

Crabbe had a free period first, so Harry left her to go back down to the common room un-assaulted by Parkinson and her vicious hair-braiding (which Crabbe had described as the same feeling as having someone try to rip your hair out of your head for an hour at a time.)

 

Arithmancy was in classroom seven-a, two flights of stairs up from there, which was filled with strange paintings and even stranger number charts. The class itself was made up of three Slytherins, five Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and two Gryffindors.

 

Professor Vector, who taught Arithmancy, was an older witch with long dark hair and a jowly face. She rang her hands together as she waited for the class to file in, and when the last Gryffindor straggled in, she snapped the door shut with a flick of her wand.

 

“Good morning, and welcome to third year Arithmancy.” Professor Vector didn’t smile, just pointed her wand at the board behind her.

 

“Arithmancy,” she said, and wrote on the board, “is the study of divining by numbers. In this course, we will be studying how numbers are entwined with the natural world, and how we can use them to understand both ourselves and the magic around us. We will begin today by choosing partners and deriving one another’s ‘Character Number,’ the maths for which you will find on page twenty-seven of your books. Please begin.”

 

The girl sitting in front of them, who hadn’t sat by anyone, turned around with a hopeful look in her eyes, but Draco glared at her, and Harry shook his head, so she turned back around.

 

Harry flipped open his book to page thirty-eight and then flipped it back to twenty-seven.

 

“Do you want to go first, or should I?” He asked Draco.

 

Draco, however, was still glaring at the girl in front of them’s head.

 

“Draco?” Harry thought about waving his hand in front of his face, then thought better of it. Draco would think that was condescending.

 

“I’ll do yours first,” Draco said, and flipped his book open with great gusto. Harry sighed under his breath. Draco was a terror when he was jealous, and he didn’t want to think about the last person that Draco had glared at that way.

 

“Charlus,” Draco muttered, “that’s three, eight, one, nine, two threes and a one. Then, Potter, that’s… seven, six, two, two, five and nine.”

 

Harry wrote down his own numbers and then flipped the page, to see how to reduce them.

 

“That’s seventy-seven,” Harry said, as he wrote it down. He did some quick mental math. “I’m a five.”

 

Draco flipped to the next page in his book. “Five is the number of instability and imbalance, indicating change and uncertainty. Fives are drawn to many things at once but commit to none. They are adventurous, energetic and willing to take risks. They enjoy travel and meeting new people but may not stay in one place very long. Fives can be conceited, irresponsible, quick-tempered and impatient.”

 

“That’s a load of shite,” Draco said. “You sound more like a six to me.”

 

Harry flipped to the next page. Under six, it said, ‘Six represents harmony, friendship, and family life. Sixes are loyal, reliable, and loving. They adapt easily. They do well in teaching and the arts but are often unsuccessful in business. They are sometimes prone to gossip and complacency.’ Harry didn’t think he sounded like either of those. He wasn’t a risk-taker, he was certainly more responsible than Draco, and his stomach tied itself in knots every time things changed.

 

He hummed noncommittally, though, and flipped his book back to page twenty-seven. He jotted down Draco’s numbers and did the maths on the side of his parchment. “You’re a seven,” he told him, as he slid his notes over.

 

Draco stared at him for a minute, opened his mouth as if to say something, snapped his mouth closed with a click, and then settled on saying “Thank you.”

 

Harry nodded. Going back to school had done something odd to them, he thought, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. He shook himself- there was nothing wrong with either of them. Harry was just imagining things. “Perceptive, understanding, and bright, sevens enjoy hard work and challenges.” He read. “They are often serious, scholarly, and interested in all things mysterious. Originality and imagination are more important than money and material possessions. Sevens can also be pessimistic, sarcastic, and insecure.”

 

That didn’t sound anything like Draco. Harry looked down the list of numbers- Draco was more of an eight- Ambitious and committed, but also jealous, greedy and domineering.

 

Draco wordlessly handed Harry back his parchment. Harry scribbled something about being quick-tempered and how he’d had a lot of change in his life before he brought his parchment up to Professor Vector’s desk.

 

The only person who finished before them was Granger, so Draco started doodling on a spare sheet of parchment as they waited for the rest of the class to finish. Harry drew a little dragon on the corner of it, and Draco stopped doodling to watch him do it. He wrote ‘Perceptive, understanding and bright’ over the wings, and Draco coughed to hide the flush that was creeping up his face.

 

“Your assignment for next class is to divine your partner’s Heart and Social numbers, which you can find more about on page thirty-two.” Professor Vector told them before she dismissed them to their second class of the day.

 

Harry’s second class of the day was Ancient Runes, which would be the first class at Hogwarts that he’d ever taken without Draco.

 

Crabbe and Goyle found them outside of their Arithmancy classroom, flush still high on Draco’s cheeks. He glared at them when they noticed as if daring them to say something about it. They didn’t.

 

Harry gave his hand a quick squeeze before leaving the three of them to figure out where their Divination classroom was. He could practically feel the three of them looking at him as he left, but they didn’t call out to him or anything, so he just slipped inside and found a desk.

 

Since it was right next to his Arithmancy class, Harry’d thought that more people would show up early, but he supposed they were out in the hall, talking to other people. Still, there was another person in the class- the girl who’d sat in front of them the period before had her head buried in the Daily Prophet- so much so, in fact, that Harry couldn’t tell it was her until he sat down at the desk behind her.

 

“Do you like the society section?” He asked her, once he managed to figure out what it was she was reading.

 

She startled, and nearly knocked over her chair in her hurry to turn around. “Oh, it’s just you,” she sighed, as though reading the society pages of the Prophet was the worst thing he could’ve caught her doing. “What did you say?” She asked sheepishly.

 

“Do you like the society section?” He asked her again.

 

She squirmed awkwardly. “Yes,” she said after a minute. “I love them. Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

 

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t want anyone to know,” he said, “but alright.”

 

She looked away, as though he’d found out her worst secret.

 

“I’m sorry if I got you in trouble with your friend,” she said, in a clear bid to change the subject.

 

Harry pulled a quill and ink out of his bag and reached a hand out for her paper.

 

She handed it over, albeit grudgingly.

 

Harry searched through the society section- which had had his picture plastered over it the month before- and circled Lord or Lady Malfoy’s names whenever they showed up. By the time he handed it back to her, he’d circled nearly half a page.

 

“For your sake, I hope you find an Arithmancy partner,” he said. “Draco is vicious when he’s jealous.”

 

“Draco Malfoy?” She asked, looking down at her paper.

 

Harry nodded and pulled his books out of his bag. When he looked back up, she’d moved clear across the room, and didn’t even glance at him.

 

-

 

Theodore Nott took the seat next to Harry in Ancient Runes, and he’d mostly forgotten about the girl with the Prophet by the time that their class ended.

 

They had to translate runes for homework- at least half a roll of parchment- but Harry had a lovely talk about Germanic runes versus Nordic runes with Nott on the way down to the Great Hall, so he didn’t mind terribly.

 

“Are you taking Care of Magical Creatures?” Harry asked him, as they were sitting down for lunch.

 

“Not on your life,” Nott said. “Not even if Malfoy drugged me.”

 

As if on cue, Draco came strolling into the Great Hall, Crabbe and Goyle right behind him. Draco sat down next to Harry and wrapped an arm around his waist.

 

“Talking about me, Nott?” He asked.

 

Nott rolled his eyes. “As if your ego needed any more stroking.”

 

Harry reached for a piece of chicken with his fork, and when he couldn’t quite reach it, Draco leaned over and pulled it closer. Harry really wished he had longer arms, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped.

 

“Thank you,” he said.

 

“Would you like anything else?” Draco asked him. Harry couldn’t believe that Draco was asking if he could do anything for him, rather than the other way around, but Harry figured he ought to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

“Would you pass the beans?” Harry asked, pointing at the bowl of string beans next to one of the older prefects.

 

Draco reached for it, but the prefect had already handed them over.

 

“Thank you,” Harry said, although he could see the way that Draco glared at him.

 

-

 

Care of Magical Creatures was held outside the gamekeeper, Hagrid’s, house, where he stood waiting for his class. He was wearing some terrible fur thing, with an enormous boarhound standing at his heels.

 

"C'mon, now, get a move on!" he yelled as the class approached. "Got a real treat for yeh today! A great lesson!”

 

Harry really doubted that. The last time that he’d seen the gamekeeper this close-up, he’d been making Harry go back to the Dursleys. Seeing him made Harry uneasy, and Draco hadn’t stopped complaining about Longbottom the whole way down to the grounds. Some of it had been funny, but mostly he’d just been insulting Weasley while Crabbe and Goyle chortled along with him.

 

“Everyone here?” Hagrid asked, snapping Harry out of his reverie. “Right, follow me!"

 

Hagrid led them off around the edge of the trees, and although Harry was afraid he might be about to feed them to some horrible animal, five minutes later, they found themselves outside a kind of paddock with nothing in it.

 

"Everyone through here!" he called. "Make sure yeh can see, spread out if yeh need to. Less chatter, if yeh please, and open yer books to page fourty-nine."

 

"And exactly how do we do that?" sneered Draco.

 

"Eh?" said Hagrid.

 

"How do we open our books?" He repeated. He swung his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which he’d re-bound with one of his belts, into his hands. Other people took theirs out too- some, like Harry, had left the strap of leather from the bookshop on, but others had crammed them inside tight bags.

 

"Yeh just stroke the spine, o’ course." said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Harry stroked down the spine of his book, which he’d pulled out of his bag to a great amount of wriggling, and watched as it suddenly stopped moving at all. At least that explained what sort of nutter would give a biting book to a bunch of third-years.

 

"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Draco sneered. "We should have stroked them! Why didn't we guess?"

 

"I think they’re funny," Granger said, from across the paddock.

 

"Oh, terribly funny!" Draco snapped. "Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!"

 

“I’ve just been howling with laughter,” Harry said, one hand paging through the book, although he still kept it firmly away from the book’s teeth.

 

"Shut up, Malfoy," Longbottom sneered.

 

Hagrid had strode away from them into the forest and out of sight.

 

"Merlin, this place is going to the dogs," said Draco loudly. "Wait 'til my father hears that they’ve got this oaf teaching classes.”

 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Longbottom repeated, this time stalking towards the wall that they were leaning against.

 

Draco wolf-whistled at him, and Crabbe and Goyle joined in. Harry just looked up from his book to watch, in case they started hexing each other.

 

Draco tossed his book bag into Crabbe’s arms, and she gave a little ‘oof.’ He didn’t bother looking to see if she was alright and instead strutted up to Longbottom like he owned the forest.

 

He couldn’t see either of their faces, just the way that Draco’s shoulders tightened and he recoiled before he pointed at the trees behind Longbottom and shouted, “Dementor, dementor!”

 

The Gryffindors all whipped their heads around so that they could see behind them, and Draco howled with laughter.

 

Harry wondered if this was what Lady Malfoy had meant when she had told him to keep Draco from embarrassing himself.

 

"Oooooooh!" squealed Lavender Brown, a Gryffindor girl with curly brown hair, pointing toward the opposite side of the paddock.

 

Coming towards them was Hagrid, now carrying a string of dead rodents around his neck, and the strangest creature Harry had ever seen. It had the tail end of a horse, with a tail longer than most of Harry’s body, and a front that looked like an enormous eagle. It had razor sharp talons on its’ front legs, and glinting orange eyes, that it narrowed at the lot of them before Hagrid tossed it one of the dead rodents.

  
“Hagrid,” called Weasley, “exactly what is that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i keep saying this, but i think this is honestly the most fun i've had writing this fic in a while. like writing The Drama™ is fun, but thirteen-year-olds figuring out how relationships work while doing Weird Spirit Math is something i want for every writer out there.


	13. A Hippogriff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Merlin, I’m never going to get this out of my robes,” Draco groused, as they waited for Longbottom to come back with the hippogriff.
> 
> “Look on the bright side,” Harry said, “maybe it’ll drown Longbottom in the Black Lake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi kids
> 
> just one tw for this chapter, but it's down in the end notes.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A HIPPOGRIFF

 

“That, Ron,” announced the gamekeeper, “is a hippogriff!”

 

The beast’s great tail swung back and forth as it walked, and Harry noticed that the talons on its front hooves gripped the ground loosely, and almost made it hard for it to balance. It walked with strange steps- one part pulling and one part pushing, although Harry realized it was fairly fast when it came almost to the end of the paddock in under a minute.

 

“Isn’ he beau'iful?” Hagrid asked- although it didn’t sound like he was asking them. He was looking right at Longbottom like he was asking if Longbottom thought he’d done alright.

 

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. At a different angle, he thought, the hippogriff wasn’t horrible to look at. Its hind legs looked almost too small for its body, but it had beautiful feathers. That was really the best it was going to get from him, though.

 

"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud," said Hagrid. "Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh ever do."

 

“Right, then, who’d like to come say hello?” He asked.

 

Harry was instantly glad that they were at the back of the paddock because the hippogriff was eyeing them all like they were lunch.

 

Draco wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist to tug him closer, as though Harry needed to be protected from it, or maybe as though he’d try to go forward. Harry let himself be tugged into Draco’s side anyway, though

 

The crowd had shifted backward while Harry was distracted, and Longbottom, who’d never had particularly sharp reflexes on the ground, at least as far as Harry could tell, was left standing at the edge of the paddock.  

 

“Well done, Neville! Well done!” Hagrid held out another rodent and lured the hippogriff closer.

 

"Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs' move," Hagrid continued. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch him. If not- well, we’ll get to that later.”

 

“Maybe we’ll get lucky, and it’ll eat Longbottom for us,” Draco muttered.

 

Harry laughed under his breath, but he had to suppress a shiver at the idea of seeing Longbottom’s blood again.

 

"Easy now, Neville," said Hagrid quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink... Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much..."

 

Harry couldn’t imagine what- or who- had made a creature this ugly, that didn’t trust people who  _blinked_ too much.

 

"Tha's it," said Hagrid. "Tha's it, Neville... now, bow."

 

Harry could see Longbottom bend over, one gangly arm tucked into his stomach, the other twitching at his side. The hippogriff looked down at his left arm, where Longbottom clenched his hand to try and get it to stop fidgeting, and then looked at his face.

 

The hippogriff didn't move at all for a minute.

 

"Ah," said Hagrid, gesturing wildly at Longbottom. "Right- back away, now, Neville, easy does it…”

 

But then, to Harry's enormous surprise, the hippogriff suddenly bent its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow. Harry wasn’t sure if he should be disgusted or impressed.

 

Draco suddenly shoved forward into the crowd, Crabbe and Goyle right behind him, Harry along for the ride since he hadn’t let go of his waist. Someone elbowed him, and Harry shot them a nasty glare.

 

Longbottom reached out to pet the hippogriff, and it gave a great caw and stamped its back legs, the way a spooked horse might. Longbottom scrambled backward and nearly fell on his arse, which got Draco laughing again. Harry had to admit that watching Longbottom scrambling in the dirt to try and get away from an enormous horse-bird was pretty funny.

 

It got even funnier, though, when Hagrid said, “He may let yeh ride ‘im, now,” and picked Longbottom right up off the ground and plopped him down on top of the hippogriff. It kept on being funny, when it nearly bucked Longbottom off, right up until it was running towards them, and they had to hit the ground to avoid being hit by it.

 

Harry got dirt all over his robe, and when he brushed it off, he was sure he’d given himself a splinter. It certainly wasn’t the worst thing that’d ever happened to him, but it was annoying nonetheless.

 

“Merlin, I’m never going to get this out of my robes,” Draco groused, as they waited for Longbottom to come back with the hippogriff.

 

“Look on the bright side,” Harry said, “maybe it’ll drown Longbottom in the Black Lake.”

 

Draco snorted and looked like he was waiting for it to happen, right up until Longbottom touched back down.

 

As the Gryffindors cheered, Harry was reminded of the last time that Draco had played a Quidditch match against Longbottom. He had the same sort of burning anger in his eyes that he’d had then.

 

“Oh, please.” Draco sneered.

 

“Draco-” Harry reached out to grab his arm, but Draco just wrenched it out of his grip.

 

He stalked up to the hippogriff, shoving a few Gryffindor girls out of the way, and shouted, “Yes, you’re not dangerous at all, are you? You great ugly brute.”

 

Before anyone could do anything, the hippogriff reared up on its’ hind legs, wings expanding, and cawed like it was about to kill him.

 

There was the flash of light that glinted off of Draco’s engagement ring, the sound of ripping fabric, and the sickening splash of blood as one of the hippogriff’s talons slashed through Draco’s arm.

 

There was a moment where all Harry could hear was the screeching hippogriff, as Hagrid tried to wrestle it to the ground, and then, he could hear Draco crying, “It’s killed me, it’s killed me!”

 

Harry knew better than anyone that Draco over exaggerated, but- there was so much blood. It blossomed out from the cut, into Draco’s robes, and as Hagrid picked him up, his blood dripped onto the ground. Draco whimpered again and fell silent.

 

Harry had the sudden thought that someone could die from blood loss. If Draco died, he’d never forgive himself. If only he’d grabbed his arm faster or said something, or-

 

Harry looked down at his hands and watched as water fell off of his shaking fingers. He was crying, he realized. And just like that, he realized that people were shouting.

 

“It was Malfoy’s fault!” One of the Gryffindors cried, as though that excused that he’d had his arm cut open.

 

Harry snatched his bag from where he’d left it by the paddock fence, and jogged to catch up to the rest of the class.

 

When he caught up to them, Crabbe patted him consolingly on the shoulder, but Harry scarcely felt it. They all climbed the stone steps into the deserted entrance hall, and  Harry shoved a few people out of the way so that he could get to the top steps.

 

“Potter- are you crying?” Granger asked, as though it were strange that Harry was crying.

 

“I’m going to go and see if he’s alright.” His hands were still shaking, and he stuffed them in the pockets of his robes so that they couldn’t see. Then he turned and ran up the stairs.

 

His heart was beating too loudly, and he shivered, even though he wasn’t cold.

 

When he got to the infirmary, he pushed open the door to see the groundskeeper wringing his hands nervously, while Madame Pomfrey leaned over a bed on the far right-hand side of the room.

 

Harry didn’t bother grabbing a chair, he just rushed over to the side of the bed that Madame Pomfrey wasn’t leaning over.

 

Draco was moaning, one hand caught up in the bed sheets, the other mostly covered by Madame Pomfrey. Still, Harry saw part of the gash, and he could look at the tendons in Draco’s arm. He felt light-headed, and he sank to his knees before he grabbed Draco’s hand.

 

“Is he going to be alright?” Harry asked Madame Pomfrey, as she applied a salve to his arm.

 

Draco answered for her, because he cried out “It hurts, it hurts!”

 

She ran a hand over his arm and muttered a spell under her breath. “He’s not bleeding any longer,” she said, “but if he’s still in pain, there’s not much I can do.” The implication that she didn’t think he was in pain hung in the air.

 

Still, she wrapped his forearm in bandages and handed him a beaker full of a potion that smelled like turpentine.

 

Draco pulled his hand out of Harry’s to hold it, and the resulting grimace contorted his face into the strangest expression Harry had ever seen. Harry’d certainly had to take worse potions, but he imagined that the combination of that and the blood loss was making him woozy.

 

-

 

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon in the Hospital Wing, and it was only Madame Pomfrey threatening to toss him out on his ear that made him leave.

 

“You can come back tomorrow, Mr. Potter, but he needs his rest. He’s lost quite a bit of blood, and he’s not in any state for company, as it is.” She sniffed.

 

Harry nodded glumly and went down to the Great Hall for dinner. He’d missed an entire afternoon’s worth of homework, Draco was in the Hospital Wing, and he was starving.

 

Crabbe and Goyle had saved a space for him between them, and when he sat down, Crabbe offered him a biscuit.

 

“Thank you,” he said.

 

“How’s Malfoy?” One of the sixth year prefects asked him.

 

Harry put down his biscuit and shook his head. “He didn’t really say anything, other than that it hurt. Madame Pomfrey said that she’s done her best, but he’ll probably need to be in hospital for another few days, for the blood loss.”

 

She hadn’t said any such thing, but Draco wasn’t here, and he’d never forgive him if he didn’t play it up a bit. Not that Harry wasn’t worried, because he was, but- well, Draco was Draco, and it probably didn’t hurt nearly as much as he said it did.

 

“Will his arm be alright?” Parkinson asked.

 

“He’s covered in bandages at the moment,” he said. “It looked rather grisly from what I saw of it.” It had- Harry still felt a bit faint thinking about how much worse it could’ve been.

 

“I hope his father’ll have the half-breed sacked,” said the same prefect.

 

Harry nodded and bit into the biscuit Crabbe had given him. He couldn’t really taste it, but he ate it anyway.

 

He made his way, listlessly, through a few pieces of a roast, but then he collected his bag and went down to the dungeons. Crabbe and Goyle didn’t follow him, but Harry didn’t really mind.

 

The common room was empty when he got there, but he hurried down to the third years’ dormitory anyways. He pulled out his Arithmancy textbook, and two pieces of parchment. He did his own Arithmancy homework first- Draco had a shorter name.

 

Then, he made his best attempt at Draco’s handwriting and did his homework for him. He had no idea if he had Divination homework, so Harry just finished his first Ancient Runes chart and changed into his bedclothes. Since Draco wasn’t there, his cat, Circe, jumped up on his bed.

 

“At least someone’s happy,” he told her, before he shut the curtains to his four-poster, and went to sleep.

 

-

 

The next morning, Harry got out of bed, went into the bathroom, fixed his hair, got dressed, and rushed off to the hospital wing. He doubted that Draco would be awake, but he wanted to see if he was alright.

 

The doors to the hospital wing were still locked when Harry got there, but Madame Pomfrey came to unlock them not ten minutes later.

 

She found him outside, leaning against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

 

She sighed, and said, “You can come in now, Mr. Potter.”

 

“Is he awake yet?” Harry asked her, although he already knew the answer was no.

 

“Awake and surly,” she muttered.

 

When Harry entered the hospital wing proper, he could see Draco sitting up in bed, one arm covered in bandages and a sling.

 

Madame Pomfrey went over and poured Draco another beaker of the potion that smelled like turpentine, and then disappeared into her office.

 

Harry sat down on Draco’s un-injured side.

 

“Took her long enough,” Draco scowled. “I told her that you’d be here before classes.”

 

“Are you alright?” He asked.

 

“My arm feels like it’s going to fall off,” Draco groused, “but other than that, I’m just peachy.”

 

“I brought you something,” Harry said.

 

Draco sat up straighter, complaints forgotten, for the moment.

 

Harry put Lady Malfoy’s package on the bedside table, along with Draco’s Arithmancy homework, and a package of sweets that he kept in his trunk for emergencies. He’d order another one in the mail, or he’d just go and buy it on the first Hogsmeade weekend.

 

Draco reached out for the second package, which Harry had balanced on top of the first, but he had to reach for it with the wrong arm, so he couldn’t quite get a grip on it. Harry picked it up and put it on his lap.

 

“Would you bring me something else?” Draco asked.

 

Harry nearly sighed. Of course Draco would complain about someone bringing him the wrong presents. “What would you like?” He asked.

 

He leaned forward, and threaded his fingers through Harry’s curls, before tugging him down to where he was.

 

Harry leaned forward and kissed him. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d missed Draco not being cross with him. That was what it must’ve been- the day before, Draco had been cross with him, and Harry hadn’t noticed. He couldn’t imagine why, though.

  
He hadn’t done anything wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood, canon violence
> 
> if the scene with buckbeak bothered you in the book, i would recommend just skipping to the end of the chapter. the first half is the same, just harry follows draco into the hospital wing, not pansy.


	14. The Professor In Rags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s what he said,” Harry muttered. “Ancient Runes has all sorts of practical applications,” He told her, although he didn’t bother to try and make any up.
> 
> Ancient Runes had practical applications for curse-breakers or people who wrote spells, not bored society husbands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me looking at the like six months since i last posted: did i do that
> 
> but yeah i'm sorry, guys. i got stuck on this hell chapter months ago, and then after nanowrimo (which i actually wrote a novel for! like pretty much the whole thing! i actually might even publish an excerpt from it on my tumblr, if anyone wants to read it. it's about those tasty fantasy gays,) i was McDead. anyway, after this hellpit, i've got like the entire rest of the book mapped out, i just have to sit down and bang it out + editing, so hopefully the end of this fic will be by the end of this month (???????)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE PROFESSOR IN RAGS

 

Harry ended up skipping breakfast that morning, which he didn’t mind too terribly, as Draco had rather pointedly only eaten half of his breakfast. It seemed one of the house elves had found out that Draco was the boy who’d landed in the hospital wing, as they’d made him a breakfast twice as big as any Harry had ever gotten in hospital.

 

Twenty minutes before classes were due to start, though, Madame Pomfrey shooed him out of the hospital wing with a sharp, “And no coming back until you’ve gotten out of classes for the day!”

 

He could hear Draco complaining before she shut the doors.

-

 

Without Draco around, Crabbe and Goyle were... different. They’d always been quiet, since the first afternoon on the train, and in the two years since then, but without Draco there, if Harry couldn’t see them hovering over his shoulder, he’d scarcely know they were there- except for the way that people parted like the Red Sea when he walked through them. They walked him to every class, as though Draco might hex them if they didn’t, and Crabbe even asked if he’d like them to come with him to the library. Harry considered telling her no, but when he saw Parkinson looking at her hair again, he nodded and led them out of the common room.

 

Madame Pince looked down at them over her spectacles and threatened that they’d be “scrubbing cauldrons every night for a month” if they hurt any of her books. Harry hurried them off to his usual table and didn’t threaten to hex the first years who were sitting there, although Draco certainly would have.

 

“Isn’t it pointless?” Crabbe asked him after he showed her his Ancient Runes homework. “You’re never going to use it.”

 

“That’s what he said,” Harry muttered. “Ancient Runes has all sorts of practical applications,” He told her, although he didn’t bother to try and make any up.

 

Ancient Runes had practical applications for curse-breakers or people who wrote spells, not bored society husbands. Still, Harry liked it, and he was good at it. He and Theodore Nott had already come up with some fantastic rune charts, with more than half a dozen additions to the charts in their book.

 

He doubted that Crabbe would like that explanation any more than Draco would, though, so he just left it. He had twice the amount of homework he usually did, and his Arithmancy professor had been surprisingly thorough when reading over Draco’s assignments, so although Harry could now write them in his own handwriting, he also had to write a totally separate essay for each assignment.

 

With Crabbe and Goyle there, he even had to look over their essays, so it was ten minutes into dinner before Harry even finished in the library. He was sure that Draco was already furious, so he skipped dinner altogether, and went straight to the infirmary.

 

On the way there, he nearly tripped over a first year who’d been kneeling on the floor for some bizarre reason.

 

“You ought to mind where you’re going,” he said, although he didn’t bother telling her off; if she kept it up, one of the older years would probably stuff her in a broom closet.

 

-

 

The infirmary, which Harry had expected to be empty, was strangely bustling with activity. Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, which Harry took to mean she was in her office, but one of the high curtains had been drawn around the bed three spaces down from Draco’s, and he could see the outline of no less than six people all pressed against the bed.

 

Draco, rather surprisingly, didn’t look the slightest bit cross with him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said as he sat down in the chair next to Draco’s bed, “I was finishing tomorrow’s Potions essay, and I nearly fell over a first year on the way down.”

 

But Draco just waved him off. “Mother and Father are in with Madame Pomfrey,” he said, not once looking away from the door of the healer’s office.

 

“Oh?” Harry asked, willing his voice not to shake. Lady Malfoy had made Harry promise not to let Draco embarrass himself, and not even a week into classes, Draco was in the hospital wing.

 

“Mm. Father’s insisting that they send him back to Azkaban.” Draco murmured.

 

“...Send who back to Azkaban?” Harry asked.

 

“The half-breed, of course.” Draco finally looked away from the door. “Apparently he was expelled after the first time the Chamber-” Draco cut himself off with the snap of his teeth coming together. He looked up at Harry with the strangest look in his eye- if it’d been anyone else, he might’ve called it remorse.

 

Draco didn’t bother to finish his thought, although Harry almost wished he had- listening to Draco talk was far better than thinking about the stone chamber of horrors that lay somewhere beneath their feet.

-

 

Lord and Lady Malfoy didn’t come out of Madame Pomfrey’s office the whole time Harry was there. Later, Draco told him that they’d flooed to the headmaster’s office, but Harry still couldn’t shake the feeling the Malfoys were disappointed in him.

 

Draco, on the other hand, was ecstatic. Both times that Harry visited him the next day, he was in high spirits, and he hadn’t even complained that the house elves had given him treacle tart- he’d simply handed it to Harry and gone on telling him about the first year with a nasty doxie bite in the bed across from him.

 

Harry had drifted a little by the time Draco finished, and he nearly missed him saying, “Madame Pomfrey’s cleared me to go back to class tomorrow.”

 

“Isn’t that a bit soon?” Harry asked.

 

“I suppose, but Mother and Father didn’t object, so I suppose I’ll have to,” Draco sniffed.

 

“She doesn’t expect you to use it, though?” Harry pointedly looked down at his arm, which was still covered in bandages, from above his elbow to just below his knuckles.

 

“Of course not,” said Draco, as he snapped his fingers impatiently for a house elf. “Take this away,” he snapped, which was distinctly out of character for Draco. The only house elf he ever really told off was Dobby, who, in Harry’s opinion, could probably use more than a telling off- after all, he’d ‘accidentally’ set fire to most of the Manor the previous winter, and it had taken two teams of work wizards a month to fix all the damage. Harry expected it’d cost Lord Malfoy a small fortune, as well.

 

“...Is it your arm?” Harry asked him, once the house elf had left.

 

“Is what my arm?” Draco snapped.

 

“You just seem rather… out of sorts, all of a sudden.” Harry said. He really didn’t fancy getting into a fight with Draco in the middle of the infirmary- especially if Draco would be getting out the next day.

 

“Perhaps we ought to cut open your arm, and we’ll see how in sorts you’ll be-”

 

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Harry interrupted him, “I’m supposed to worry about you, though. Or had you forgotten that you’re supposed to marry me?”

 

“Of course I haven’t forgotten, but I’m-” Draco suddenly cut himself off, and ran his good hand through his hair.

 

“You’re what?”

 

“Go to bed.” Draco snapped. “You’re going to have to carry my things tomorrow.”

 

It was a terrible excuse, and they both seemed to know it, but Harry went anyways. He just didn’t understand what it was he’d done.

  
-

 

Harry woke bright and early the next morning, about a half an hour before everyone else, to get Draco’s robes from his trunk, and get down to the infirmary.

 

Madame Pomfrey didn’t even bother keeping him out although she did insist that he wait outside while Draco changed into his robes.

 

Afterward, she ducked out, and told him, in no uncertain terms, “Go and get your breakfast, Mister Malfoy will be along.”

 

Although Harry wasn’t particularly hungry, he hadn’t been eating properly since Draco went into Hospital, and he supposed that he should probably start again as soon as possible.

 

Since Harry had missed breakfast the day before, he grabbed a book from the Slytherin dorm before he headed back upstairs to the Great Hall.

 

-

 

They were in the middle of Double Potions when Draco finally came strolling in, his bad arm in a sling, and his bag in his other hand.

 

The seat next to Harry had, in an unspoken rule, been left clear for Draco, so all he had to do was drop into it. Unfortunately, Harry’s table was also right next to Longbottom and Weasley’s, the latter of whom was notorious for leaving his bag sprawled out over the floor. Harry hadn’t been paying very much attention- he’d been shredding daisy roots- but when Draco tripped over it, knocked his bad arm against the workbench, and let out a particularly awful hiss, Harry looked up from what he was doing.

 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked.

 

“Fine,” he said as he clenched his teeth together.

 

"Settle down, settle down," said Professor Snape idly.

 

“...Has it gotten any better?” He asked, once Professor Snape had turned back around.

 

“Not much,” Draco grimaced. “It started bleeding again before I left.”

 

Harry blanched- once Madame Pomfrey healed them, cuts never opened again unless there was something very wrong.

 

“Would you like me to shred your roots for you?” Harry asked. Draco had apparently decided that whatever had gone on between them the night before hadn’t been important, so Harry was trying to follow his example.

 

“Mm, no,” Draco muttered. “Go and get me some, though, would you?”

 

Harry nodded and stood up to walk to the supply cupboard. While he was looking at the shrivelfigs, though, he could hear Draco call out to Professor Snape, "Sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm-"

 

Harry didn’t understand why he didn’t just ask him to do it before he turned around and saw that Draco had moved his cauldron over to Longbottom and Weasley’s table.

 

"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," he heard Professor Snape say.

 

Harry brought Draco his roots, his shrivelfig, and his caterpillars.

 

“And why can’t Potter cut up your roots for you?” Weasley snapped.

 

“Don’t be silly, Weasley,” Draco sniffed, “Harry doesn’t need a profession- you do.”

 

Longbottom had to grab Weasley’s robes to keep him from throttling Draco, although it looked as though he wasn’t happy to do it.

 

Harry, who’d already been on the receiving end of one of Weasley’s punches, hastily beat a retreat back to his own table.

 

It felt strangely empty, in a way that it hadn’t when Draco was in hospital, but it did give him extra time to work on his Shrinking Solution that he wouldn’t have otherwise had.

 

-

 

Lunch that afternoon was filled with Draco telling an eager crowd about his arm. It was all bollocks, but Harry had a pretty spectacular time of it- with Draco’s attention off of him, he was able to sit tucked into his side, finishing his book from that morning.

 

By the time that their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class started, Harry knew infinitely more about Veela hierarchies and had heard a load of terrible lies about Draco’s arm.

 

Their new professor wasn't there when they arrived at the Defense classroom, but the Gryffindors were, and they’d already split most of the classroom so that they took up the desks on the side of the room by the door.

 

Draco steered Harry towards the rows in the back, so it didn’t particularly matter to him, but he could see some of the other Slytherins giving them dirty looks- especially the people who’d gotten the desk with a hidden compartment in it.

 

Before anything could come of it, however, the new professor walked in, carrying the tattiest old briefcase Harry had ever seen.

 

“I wonder if he’s ever heard of a tailor,” muttered Draco, who was looking at the professor’s robes with the same sort of contempt that he’d looked at Harry’s clothes with when they’d first met.

 

Meanwhile, the professor had written “Professor R. J. Lupin,” in big, cramped letters on the board.

 

"Good afternoon," Professor Lupin said, once everyone’s attention was on him, "Would you please put all your books back in your bags? Today's will be a practical lesson- you will need only your wands."

 

After he’d called roll, he led them out of the Defense classroom, and down several empty hallways, to the staffroom. It too was empty, all except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sat in front of a thick stack of Potions essays, but when their class began shuffling up, he stood up and brushed invisible dust off of his robes, before heading out the door with his stack of parchment tucked underneath one arm. He didn’t say anything to Professor Lupin, which Harry thought was strange.

 

Professor Lupin, however, was unfazed, and merely pushed the tables and chairs aside with a flick of his wand. The only thing he left standing was an old armoire, which began rattling when Lupin stepped closer to it. He asked them, “Can anyone tell me what that is?”

 

“That’s a boggart, that is,” said Dean Thomas, a tall, gangly Gryffindor.

 

Lupin nodded. “Very good, Mr. Thomas.”

 

"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces," said Professor Lupin. "You’ll usually find them under beds, or in wardrobes or cupboards. This particular boggart moved in over the summer, and the headmistress was kind enough to leave it to give you some practice.”

 

"So,” he said, as he clapped his hands together, “the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?"

 

Harry raised his hand, although he was beaten by Granger, who he hadn’t noticed come in with them. "It's a shape-shifter," she said. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

 

"Couldn't have put it better myself," said Professor Lupin, and Granger glowed. "So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.”

 

“However,” Lupin said, sliding his wand into his sleeve, “there is a very easy charm to repel a boggart. If you’ll all repeat after me, please: Riddikulus.”

 

“This class is ridiculous,” muttered Draco, although there was no real heat behind it. He’d been in a good mood since lunch, and he’d very pointedly asked Harry if he was doing anything during his free period, which Harry took to mean that he’d like to go downstairs to snog.

"Good," said Professor Lupin. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. Harry,” Professor Lupin suddenly looked at Harry, who’d thought he’d done a good job of tucking himself into the corner. “Would you come up here, please?”


	15. The Scarlet Boggart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupin took a step toward the wardrobe, and Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve. His heart was beating too fast, and he still had no idea what his boggart would turn into. Lupin unlocked the wardrobe, and Harry cast out hopelessly for something other than Tom Riddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, here we go! this chapter is shorter than usual, but the next one is longer than usual, and not Bad: The Musical
> 
> there are trigger warnings for this chapter, and there is a chapter summary, so those are down in the bottom notes if you need them. please be safe, guys!
> 
> in other, more fun news, this fic has over eleven thousand hits! so a great big thank you to everyone who enjoys this fic and thank you all for putting up with me and my wonky updating schedule for the past two years (two years!!!)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE SCARLET BOGGART

  


Harry, who knew very well how to get rid of a boggart (it’d been in the twelfth chapter of their textbook,) but had no idea what his would be, considered not doing it. Would it be better to get detention, or to let the whole class know what Harry was most afraid? He sighed- if he didn’t go up, it would look worse than if he did, no matter what his boggart ended up being. He uncrossed his arms and walked to the front of the classroom, back straight and head held high.

 

“Now Harry,” Professor Lupin said, “I want you to picture what you’re most afraid of. Just in your mind, if you please. Then think of something that you, personally, find truly amusing. Try to combine the two of them in your mind’s eye. When I open this door, you will repeat the incantation, and try to imagine the boggart becoming the combination.”

 

Harry nodded, although he was suddenly gripped with terror- there were more horrible memories from the Chamber of Secrets than he would care to admit, and any one of them could be about to come out of the closet. It could be the basilisk, the enormous snake that Harry had only seen with it’s eyes gouged out, or the horrible diary who had enchanted him, or Tom Riddle himself, even.

 

Lupin took a step toward the wardrobe, and Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve. His heart was beating too fast, and he still had no idea what his boggart would turn into. Lupin unlocked the wardrobe, and Harry cast out hopelessly for something other than Tom Riddle.

 

In a minute, he wished he hadn’t, because standing there, in her bloody school robes, was Ginny Weasley.

 

Behind him, someone made a noise like they’d been kicked in the stomach.

 

Ginny, who had been pale in life, was practically translucent in death- Harry could see every one of her veins. Her eyes were bloodshot, as though she’d been crying, and there were spots of blood caked onto her sleeves.

 

Her long ginger hair looked almost too pale, as though death had somehow lightened it. Her bottom lip was chapped, as though she had been worrying it, and when she opened her mouth, her voice was eerily quiet. “He ruined you,” she said, and Harry couldn’t take it any longer.

 

Harry pointed his wand at her, and cried “Ridikkulus!” in a wobbly voice.

 

Ginny suddenly turned into his cat, Circe, who began pouncing on something he couldn’t see.

 

“Wonderful, wonderful!” Said Professor Lupin.

 

Harry headed to the back of the room on shaky legs. It felt as though the whole class was staring at him, and Harry would’ve liked nothing better than to dart out the door and never come back. But.

 

But he was going to be a Malfoy, and Malfoys didn’t run. They strategically retreated, perhaps, but they didn’t run.

 

Harry found Draco in the same back corner he’d found him in.

 

It seemed as though no one else had heard what she’d said, but it echoed in Harry’s ears- _he ruined you._ He didn’t know who she had been talking about, but when he went to put his wand back in his robe pocket, he realized he was shaking like a leaf.

 

Draco, who was looking at him with the strangest eyes, asked him, very quietly, “Are you alright?”

 

Harry nodded, although he didn’t think he could be any less alright if he were the one who had died.

 

The rest of the class- when Harry had the stomach to look up again- had entirely normal boggarts. None of theirs turned into dead first years, only spiders or mummies or severed body parts. Harry was inexplicably jealous- he wished now, more than ever, that the previous year had only been a horrible night terror, and that the youngest Weasley was safe and sound with the rest of the second years in Charms.

 

Harry was practically boiling with resentment by the time that Longbottom stepped up to the armoire. Professor Lupin, who had drifted closer when Longbottom had stepped up, jumped in front of the boggart- just as soon as it turned into a dementor.

 

Although it wasn’t quite as bad as it had been on the train, after Ginny, it felt as though the bottom of Harry’s stomach had dropped out- he had to stuff his hands into his pockets so that no one could see how violently his hands were shaking.

 

With a flick of his wand and a loud “Riddikulus!” Professor Lupin sent the boggart (now a muggle balloon, although Harry hadn’t seen what it’d been before that,) back into the armoire.

 

He turned back around and gave them what Harry supposed was his attempt at a comforting smile. He said something about homework, but for once, Harry wasn’t paying attention. It felt as though seeing his boggart had sent him straight back underneath the school- back into the Chamber of Secrets, where his worst memories would always dwell.

 

As class ended, Harry hurried towards the door. He didn’t want to talk about his boggart, he didn’t want to even think about it.

 

“Harry, could I have a moment?” He heard Professor Lupin ask him, right before a bony hand settled on his shoulder. It made Harry’s skin crawl, and although he had never done anything like it before, he shook off the Professor’s hand and kept going. He felt as though he was going to be sick all over his robes if he didn’t get out of there immediately.

 

In the hallway, though, it was no better. It still felt like everyone was watching him, waiting for him to crack, so they could finally find out what had happened. He knew neither he nor Longbottom had ever spoken of it to anyone, and the rumors, although Draco had tried to keep them away from him, had run rampant.

 

Harry tried to take a deep breath- he could feel his lungs tightening, and he couldn’t fall to pieces in front of everyone.

 

When he heard Weasley call, “Oi, Potter!” though, he gave up. He bolted.

 

He wasn’t sure where he was going, he was just running- running from what had happened, running from what would happen, running from all of it. It was Harry was good at- deflect, don’t address it, just keep going, keep going, _keep going_.

 

And that was what he did- past older years, up flights of stairs, down old, abandoned hallways, until at last he’d reached one of the old towers- one of the ones that was too run down to even hold astronomy lessons in any longer. One of the walls had crumbled, and the floor was uneven, but Harry didn’t care any more.

 

She was dead.

 

His hands were shaking so badly now that he felt as though he might shake right apart- _Merlin_ , he had been so stupid to trust that diary. Why had he ever thought it was good idea?

 

He wrapped his arms around himself, and sank down against the part of the wall that was still standing. When he closed his eyes, he could even _see_ it- as though he were still down there, huddling against the ancient walls, on the filthy wet floor, his robes covered in his own blood.

 

He came back to himself with a violent shake. It was over, he told himself. He was safe.

 

He shoved his head into his arms, and pulled his knees tight to his chest, before he took a long, shaky breath. One in, one out.

 

He counted to himself as he did it- one, in; two, out; three, in; four, out- and on and on.

 

He kept breathing until his hands had evened themselves out, and the muscles in his shoulders had uncramped. Even afterward, he kept his forehead pressed tight to his arms, and his knees so high that they nearly touched his chin.

 

In, out, he thought. In, out, one, two, until he could finally look up.

 

The sudden bright light of the sun was enough to blind him for a minute, before he blinked twice and his vision returned to normal.

 

-

 

Harry stayed in the old tower for his whole free period, and he debated missing dinner altogether, until his stomach rumbled, and he reluctantly climbed down. It was getting cold, he supposed, and he hadn’t even brought a cloak with him.

 

He hadn’t noticed before, but on his way down his first flight of steps, he realized he had forgotten his bag outside the staffroom.

 

Although he felt he would’ve rather given both his hands than go back, Harry reluctantly headed down to the second floor. He didn’t run into anyone on the way down, although that didn’t particularly surprise him- dinner had probably already started.

 

Thankfully, the hallway was deserted, and Harry found his bag just where he’d left it. He considered heading to dinner, but he couldn’t face it. Everyone was bound to have heard about what had happened, and Harry didn’t think he could take being stared at while Draco stared down half of their class.

 

He still went downstairs, but instead of turning into the Great Hall, he took the hall down to the dungeons, past the Potions classroom, and the Slytherin dorm, down to the entrance to the kitchens.

 

He tickled the pear in the center of the painting, and slid inside, before he closed it behind him.

 

Inside, the mess of house elves stopped what they were doing to turn around and look at him.

 

One of the younger house elves stepped up to him, and bowed so low that her ears nearly bent in half. “What can we be getting Master Potter?” she asked, and wrung her hands together.

 

“You can send a tureen of soup up to the Slytherin dorms,” he told her.

 

“Of course, sir!” She nodded her head so vigorously that it appeared as though she were vibrating.

  
Harry nodded, and turned back to the painting. Before he opened it, though, he turned around, and said very quietly, “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Child Death, Mild Body Horror and Panic Attacks.
> 
> Chapter Summary: In this chapter, Harry is forced to face his boggart in the same way that Neville was, in the original series. His boggart, however, is not a professor- it's Ginny Weasley. Harry is horrified to see a dead Ginny step out of the armoire, and although he does manage to cast the counter-charm against a boggart, the experience is very traumatizing for Harry, who still has nightmares and lingering PTSD symptoms from seeing her die. Although he wants to run, Narcissa had explicitly told him that Malfoys never run from their problems, at least not in public, and so he stays through the lesson. Afterward, however, Lupin asks him to stay behind, and Harry, unwilling or unable to talk about his boggart, ignores him. In the hall, Ron Weasley approaches him, very angry that his boggart is his sister, whose death Ron blames Harry for. Harry, on the cusp of a severe panic attack, runs and ends up in an unused Astronomy tower, although it is not particularly safe. His panic attack, which is, by this time, in full force, lasts for at least two hours, and when he finally calms down, he finds that he forgot his bag outside of the staffroom. After retrieving it, he decides not to go to dinner, as he is afraid of what people will say, and he wants to be alone, and so instead he goes down to the kitchens. He asks the house elves to send some soup to the Slytherin dormitories, and before he leaves, he deliberates, and then thanks the house elves.


	16. The Last Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’d only gotten through the first hundred years of Nott’s ancestors, though, when there was a sharp knock on their dorm room door, and a seventh-year prefect pushed through the door.
> 
> “You’re all to report to the Great Hall. Immediately,” she snapped, and then left the room, although she didn’t bother to close the door behind her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE LAST BLACK

  
The two weeks following the Boggart lesson were some of the worst Harry had ever had at Hogwarts- they were topped only by the weeks after Ginny Weasley’s death, but only just. By the day after, it seemed as though half the school had heard about their Defense lesson, and the horrible rumours about what exactly had happened in the Chamber of Secrets had started again with a vicious fervour.

 

Longbottom was absolutely silent on the subject, as was Weasley, although the latter seemed to have made it his personal mission in life to off Harry. If Harry was walking down the stairs, he would shove past him to try and trip him, and if it hadn’t been for Draco making him cut up all his ingredients, Harry was sure he would’ve tried to sabotage every one of his potions.

 

Draco, however, had suddenly become Harry’s shadow. If he went to the library, or to class, or out on the grounds (not that the last one happened particularly often,) Draco would be right beside him, often without Crabbe and Goyle. In fact, by the beginning of the first week, enough of the Slytherin girls had noticed this that Parkinson had taken to ribbing Crabbe horribly for it, and so Harry felt compelled to take her with him as much as possible.

 

Harry often found long, pale fingers sliding pieces of parchment underneath his books, without any comment at all from their owner, and stranger still, Draco, who only had use of one arm, would still go out of his way to get Harry’s books for him. Madame Pince, who did not believe in levitating books (as Draco had been doing,) had nearly caught him at it once, and even then, Draco had merely shrugged it off.

 

That was strangest of all- Draco wasn’t cross with him any longer, and didn’t seem to ever get cross at Harry, even when he did things that normally would have sent him into a fit. If Harry was late to breakfast because he’d gone back to the dorms to get a book, Draco would follow after him and wait, uncomplaining, as Harry got it out of his trunk.  
At one point during the second week, Draco even sat on his bed without kicking Circe (who he couldn’t stand,) off.

 

Harry, who had until then considered himself somewhat of an expert on Draco’s emotions, was absolutely baffled. Still, he wasn’t dense enough to ask Draco what had changed- he was pretty sure he knew, and even if he was wrong, it wasn’t worth spoiling Draco’s peculiarly good mood.

 

However, if Draco was unsettlingly forgiving of anything Harry might do, the same could not be said for their professors, or the Gryffindors.

 

The worst was their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. In no time at all, it had become most people's favourite class- even some of the other Slytherins in their year. Only he, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and a handful of other Slytherins had anything bad to say about Professor Lupin.

 

Of course, that didn’t deter Draco in the slightest. He would sneer at Professor Lupin whenever he passed him, whether it was in the halls or in a classroom, and mutter to Parkinson, in his nastiest voice, “Have you seen the state of his robes? He dresses like a ghoul.”

 

Harry appreciated the effort, but no amount of Draco’s vitriol about the professor’s robes could take back what had happened in their first lesson. While all of Harry’s other classes were enjoyable- fun, even!- Professor Lupin’s classes just reminded him of Ginny Weasley pulling herself out of that armoire.

 

Harry still wrote his essays, then re-wrote them for Draco, and checked over Crabbe and Goyle’s, and he re-read every section of the textbook twice, but he couldn’t bring himself to listen to Professor Lupin’s lectures. Instead, he would write little notes in the margins of his book- normally, Harry never would have written in a book, for all the horrible memories it brought back- about little things he knew about each creature. For redcaps, he wrote what Draco had told him about them as they’d gone through the dungeons of Malfoy Manor that first summer.

 

For kappas, he wrote about their diets, and what types of plants were poisonous to them, and then what different coloured webbing on their hands meant. But he only paid attention when Professor Lupin was directly asking him a question, which, with Granger’s eager hand-waving, wasn’t very often.

 

Still, several times Harry caught the professor looking at him like he would like to keep him behind and make him talk about his boggart. Those were the days where Harry would gladly slide underneath Draco’s good arm, and slip out the door hidden by the bulk of Crabbe and Goyle. A few times, he thought he heard Professor Lupin sigh or mumble something, but he convinced himself it was just his imagination.

 

Strangely, after this, Professor Snape, who before this had seen well enough to leave Harry alone, now would call on him periodically, voice sharp like a whip, as though he would gladly give him a week’s worth of detentions if he didn’t answer his question perfectly. Harry couldn’t understand what is was that had re-kindled Professor Snape’s hatred of him, but he brewed every potion to perfection, often reading the directions over four or five times to keep himself from missing the slightest detail.

 

Thankfully, Harry’s Ancient Runes class was the same as it had been the first few days- Harry sat next to Nott, they filled in their charts together, and took extensive notes from thick books that one or the other would borrow from the library. Harry would spend his free periods in the library, scrawling spare runes on long rolls of parchment while Draco would jot down quick notes for his papers with his good hand. Their Arithmancy class got quieter every lesson, as their professor preferred to give them long assignments in class and shorter ones for homework, with very few lectures in between.

 

-

 

Thankfully, by the beginning of October, everyone seemed to get the message that neither Harry nor Longbottom was going to say anything about The Chamber of Secrets, and almost everyone turned their attention to the upcoming Quidditch season. Slytherin had lost the Quidditch Cup Harry’s first year, and all the matches had been cancelled the year before. The Slytherin team captain, Flint, was in his seventh year (although Harry could swear he’d heard someone say that Flint was really in his eighth year,) and was determined to win the Quidditch Cup his last year of school.

 

However, Flint was smart enough to know that he couldn’t let Draco play with his arm the way it was- which meant that Harry was stuck sitting with Draco while he criticised the rest of the team’s flying. Harry wasn’t really pleased with this turn of events, but it did give him time to try and figure out what they were going to do during the first Hogsmeade weekend.

 

Hogsmeade was the only all-wizard village in the United Kingdom, which made sense, as they needed the privacy for the Hogwarts express, but it also meant that there were shops and taverns and tearooms that nearly rivalled Diagon Alley's.

 

  
Lady Malfoy had suggested that they go to Madame Pudifoot’s tearoom when she’d signed their permission slips, but Harry had heard from one of the sixth years that Madame Pudifoot’s was smoky and covered in old frilly cushions- not at all the sort of place where you’d like to go for lunch. People mostly went there to snog, and Harry could do that well enough at Hogwarts.

 

Crabbe and Goyle wanted to go to Honeydukes, he knew, and Harry wanted to go as well, to replace the box of sweets he’d given to Draco when he was in the hospital wing.

 

Harry didn’t particularly want to go near the Shrieking Shack, all things considered, but there was a bookshop in Hogsmeade that had a whole section of the latest books on Ancient Runes charts- unlike the books in the school library, most of which were from five decades ago, at least.

 

-

 

The first Hogsmeade trip was on Halloween morning, which meant they would be coming back to the Halloween feast. Harry thought to himself that it was shaping up to be a great day as the four of them waited in line with the rest of the third years. Even Parkinson had been in a good mood, and she hadn’t tried even once to braid Crabbe’s hair that morning.

 

Of course, she’d still glared at her when she talked around her toast or patted Goyle on the shoulder, but Crabbe had shrugged and let it go, going with what Harry thought was probably a “small mercies” train of thought.

 

Even Professor Snape’s icy glare couldn’t ruin Harry’s good mood, and he told him sincerely, “thank you, professor,” as he handed him his Hogsmeade form.

 

Although some of the older students would walk to Hogsmeade most visits, with the dementors still guarding the school, the professors insisted that they take the carriages, which Harry was grateful for. So, once Goyle had handed Professor Snape his permission slip, the four of them tucked themselves into one of the carriages. Harry resolutely ignored the strange creatures pulling the carriages (which he reminded himself to look up when they got back, to make sure he wasn’t going crazy,) and thought about the time he’d found out he was going to live with the Malfoys when they trundled past the dementors.

 

After they’d climbed down from the carriage, their first stop was Honeydukes. It was enormous- twice as large as Harry’d imagined it- and full to the brim with sweets. There were stacks of Bernie Botts Beans taller than Harry and machines that had been enchanted to make candy floss without stopping.

 

Even Draco seemed impressed with it, although he hung back when Crabbe and Goyle went to poke at prod at all the things they had on the shelves. Harry, of course, hung back with him, although he couldn’t resist looking at the suckers that had been enchanted to look like stained glass.

 

Still, Draco eventually did perk up when Harry wandered over to the chocolate frog displays. He didn't really care about them, but Draco had a collection of chocolate card frogs big enough to fill half of his school trunk, and he knew better than anyone that Draco would bring home another ten or twenty by the end of the year.

 

As expected, they left Honeydukes after Crabbe and Goyle had bought enough sweets to fill their bags, and Draco had bought twenty chocolate frogs. They wandered over to The Three Broomsticks, where Draco bought the four of them hot butterbeers before settling into one of the back tables to open all of his chocolate frogs.

 

Even as first years, Crabbe and Goyle had loved trying to catch chocolate frogs, and since Draco didn’t even particularly like them (he’d once explained to Harry that it was because he didn’t like eating things that wriggled,) they’d developed a strange ritual where Draco would open an enormous number of chocolate frogs, and they would try to catch them. Usually, Harry would ignore them, but today he drank his butterbeer and watched as the frogs jumped up on their heads, or onto the walls, or into Goyle’s drink. The last one had sent Harry into peals of laughter, as Goyle had pulled the soggy chocolate out of his butterbeer.

 

“You ought to try hitting them,” Draco smirked. Harry tried to cover up his snort by drinking his butterbeer, but it seemed to have the reverse effect.

 

Draco stared at him until Crabbe cleared her throat, and Draco startled. There was heat spreading up his cheeks, but he didn’t snap at her- instead, he leant over and snogged him.

 

Draco swiped his tongue over Harry’s upper lip, then leant in and bit his bottom lip. Not enough to hurt, just enough to sting.

 

Crabbe and Goyle pointedly looked away as Draco pulled back, and Harry used to fix his hair. “I-”

 

“You had something on your lip,” Draco said.

 

-

 

By the time they left Hogsmeade, Harry had a bag full of sweets (mostly liquorice wands and the stained glass suckers he’d been admiring at the shop,) and two books of rune charts, along with a book on spiritual magical animals.

 

The ride back to the school was even better than the ride there, and even passing by the dementors didn’t phase Harry. Most of their year, along with masses of older years, filed into the Great Hall as Filch complained loudly about the mud they were tracking in.

 

They had gotten back about an hour before the feast started, so the four of them went down the stairs to the dungeons along with the rest of the Slytherins. The first and second years had filled up all the usual spots while they’d been gone, so they spent a few minutes scaring off a pair of second years who’d taken over their couch. Once Draco had sprawled out on it, Harry brought their bags to the dorm and swapped out one of the books from his trunk with the ones he’d bought in Hogsmeade.

 

Then, he went back to the common room and settled into his spot on the end of the couch. Goyle had settled in the armchair next to it, while Parkinson had dragged Crabbe over to where she and four of the other third-year girls were sitting.

 

“Do you think she’s interested in her?” Draco asked him, as he caught the golden ball he’d tossed into the air.

 

“...Parkinson?” Harry asked. “I suppose she could be,” he mused, “although if she is it certainly isn’t mutual.”

 

Draco just hummed and tossed the ball again.

 

Goyle looked acutely uncomfortable at that train of thought, so Harry took pity on him and asked, “Do you think the Shrieking Shack is actually haunted?”

 

By the time that they’d left the common room to go down to the feast, Draco had decided that it certainly wasn’t, and it was obviously just mudbloods who didn’t understand ghosts spreading rumours.

 

-

 

The feast seemed especially spectacular that year, although whether it was because they’d gone on their first Hogsmeade trip, or because the professors were trying to make up for the two years before, when the feast had been canceled by a troll, or when they’d all found the first message on the wall after dinner.

 

And although the feast was fantastic, Harry was particularly excited about what came after.

 

Samhain was Harry’s favourite holiday- it was the first good holiday he’d ever had, and it made him feel- connected. Harry was a wizard- he had hundreds of years of relatives who’d had pure, magical blood running through their veins, who’d lived in great manors and worn beautiful clothes, and had lives full of happiness and charm, untainted by muggles. He’d escaped a horrible, horrible life- one he’d never deserved- for his real life.

 

He liked to thank his ancestors for that.

 

After dinner, they filed back into the dungeons, and most of their house disappeared back into their own dorms. Harry knew some of the half-bloods didn’t participate, but everyone in Harry’s room celebrated it, and they would all crowd into a circle on the floor before the house elves would send them a ceremonial bowl, a knife and an apple.

 

They’d only gotten through the first hundred years of Nott’s ancestors, though, when there was a sharp knock on their dorm room door, and a seventh-year prefect pushed through the door.

 

“You’re all to report to the Great Hall. Immediately,” she snapped, and then left the room, although she didn’t bother to close the door behind her.

 

The five of them gave each other strange looks, before they got off the floor, and headed for the common room.

 

On the way down the stairs, Crabbe joined them, and they filed down the stairs silently.

 

“Do you know what’s going on?” Harry asked her.

 

She shook her head, and Harry sighed.

 

When they’d reached the common room, both of the sixth year prefects told them to keep moving and directed them out of the dungeons.

 

On the way into the great hall, they converged with the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and crowded into the Great Hall, where the Gryffindors were already waiting.

 

Professor McGonagall, who looked like she would like nothing more than to hex something, stepped up to the headmaster’s podium.

 

“Your attention, please!” She snapped. “As I’m sure many of you are aware, this evening, Sirius Black has breached the castle walls. Although no one has been harmed, and there have been no other sightings, you will all remain here for the night, while the professors and I search the castle. Until we return, the head boy and head girl will be in charge.”

 

With a flick of her wrist, the long tables picked themselves up, and flew against the walls, stacking one on top of the other. With another wave of her hand, she conjured several hundred blankets, which arranged themselves on the floors, one layer on the bottom, and another, thicker layer on top. It reminded Harry bizarrely of one of Petunia’s puddings.

 

As soon as the professors left, the great hall exploded with noise. Harry, who hadn’t really thought much about Sirius Black, was, for the first time, concerned about him.


	17. The Drowned Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wasn’t sure how long into the game it was when Wood called for a time out, but his deflection charm had long since lost the fight to the rain, and he could barely see the scoreboard. As far as he could tell, Gryffindor was fifty points ahead, but he couldn’t really be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, sorry i'm late (as always,,,,) i've been really sick for the past two weeks, so this chapter has kinda just been chillin in the back of my drive. anyway hopefully i'll get next week's chapter up in an actual week and not like two months.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE DROWNED GAME

Although they were all allowed to return to their dorms early the next morning, it seemed almost wrong to go back to sleep after what little of it they’d had. Instead, most of Slytherin packed themselves into the common room. A few first and second years had gone into the dorms, along with nearly half the seventh years, who groaned things like “Advanced Potions homework,” and went off to study.

All of the third years perched on or around two velvet love-seats, an early edition of the prophet spread between them.

“He couldn’t have gotten in without going to Hogsmeade- and the dementors are there more often than here,” Zabini muttered, as he handed off the society section to Parkinson.

“He was in Azkaban,” mused Nott, “I’m sure the forest isn’t so forbidding after twelve years with the dementors.”

“Dementors or not, have you ever tried to navigate a forest filled with werewolves, banshees and what-all?” Greengrass asked.

“Do I look like a naturalist to you?” Nott sniffed.

“A naturalist, no. Although after this morning, werewolf wouldn’t surprise me.” Zabini laughed.

“If anyone acts like a werewolf in the morning, it’s Malfoy. Isn’t that right, Potter?” Bulstrode asked him.

“Do bugger off, Bulstrode,” Draco snapped.

“Fangs out, I see.” She said, then snapped her fingers for a house elf.

“Still,” Zabini said, as he tossed the sporting section in Draco’s direction, “it’s an awful lot of effort to go to when he could just wait for winter hols and have Longbottom like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Harry took the society section from Parkinson, although he wasn’t really interested that morning. The predominant theory as to why Black had broken into the castle was to get at Longbottom, but Harry couldn’t help but wonder- if Draco’s parents had been right, and Black really hadn’t been a Death Eater, then why on Earth would he want to get to Longbottom?

Harry hadn’t bothered to look up much about Black, but it didn’t make sense for an escaped convict to come to the second most fortified place in Wizarding Britain unless he had a damned good reason.

-

For the next few days, all anyone could talk about was Sirius Black. How he’d gotten in the castle, what was his trick for getting past the dementors, did he plan to bump off Longbottom, et cetera, et cetera.

Draco listened to all of them, which Harry attributed to the possibility of Longbottom being dead- and therefore missing the Gryffindor-Slytherin quidditch match.

Harry, on the other hand, was distracted by his quest for names. Crabbe had confided in him, a few days after the break-in, that she had yet to pick a new name, and both her parents and her dormmates were after her to just pick one, and be over with it. She’d just had a particularly nasty row with Parkinson over it, who thought she ought to just let her parents pick one for her, and she’d come straight to him, nearly in tears.

Harry certainly didn’t understand all of what she was going through, but with this, he thought he had some small inkling. He liked his name well enough, he supposed, but Charlus was- it was a new him, a him that was never going to starve or scrape or scrub ever again. Harry just didn’t carry the same weight, the same meaning for him.

So he’d taken her up to the library straight away, and gotten her the quietest corner, away from all the prying eyes, and had scoured the shelves, looking for records, charts, family trees, anything that would have a large selection of names.

Crabbe had looked so grateful, he was afraid she was still on the verge of tears. He wasn’t afraid of her crying or anything, but Madame Pince would have it out for her if she so much as shed one tear on her books, so he pulled her in for a hug. It was one-armed and awkward, but it gave her a moment to just stop, and afterward, they spent two hours compiling sheets of parchment the length of Harry’s arm, all with neat stacks of names in Harry’s slanting calligraphy and Crabbe’s bold lettering.

Crabbe’d left the library that night with five sheets worth of names, and Harry’d caught her crossing them off during free periods, History of Magic, or whenever the four of them went up to the library together.

Harry had asked that Draco not say anything about it, that night when they ducked into one of alcoves in the common room to snog, and as far as Harry could tell, he kept his word.

Still, Harry hadn’t expected to be as excited as he was when, on the afternoon of the fifth day after the break-in, Crabbe ever so casually mentioned that the three of them could call her Odessa.

-

The morning of the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch game dawned early, but certainly not bright. The walk up to the Great Hall that morning was punctuated by rumbling thunder claps, and as they entered the hall, it seemed as though every member of Gryffindor was ready to hex the Slytherin team. By all rights, they should have been playing- but Flint had canceled two days ahead of time, citing Draco’s arm, which had, rumor had it, sent the Gryffindor captain, Wood, scrambling for a new game plan.

Even Harry, who knew next to nothing about Quidditch manuevers, could tell that that was going to go over horribly. If it hadn’t been so damned miserable that morning, he would’ve been excited to see it play out, but as it was, the walk up to the stands was a battle against the rain and the wind.

They took a spot underneath one of the tented openings, and Harry cast his strongest deflection charm over them. Against the sort of rain they were facing, it didn’t do much good, but there wasn’t much else to do.

Watching the two teams trudge onto the field, Harry felt rather sorry for them. If it was bad on the stands, he could just image the enormous amount of mud they had to trudge through, much less how much wind they were going to face when they got into the air.

Even Lee Jordan, who was normally boisterous and loud, even for an announcer, was subdued, and his voice was almost drowned out by the weather.

Madame Hooch looked grim as she trudged out onto the field, and instructed Wood and the Hufflepuff captain, a lanky sixth year, to shake hands. He couldn’t see them, but he assumed they must have, because after a minute or so, both captains mounted their brooms, and took to the air.

The players had a difficult time rising to formation, as every time they tried, there would be a particularly strong gust of wind, and they would be swept sideways. The Gryffindor chasers were the first to recover, and they began maneuvering their brooms into the same direction as the wind.

The Hufflepuff chasers seemed to try to do the same, but it looked as though they couldn’t manage it. Many of the Hufflepuff chasers were slighter than the Gryffindors, and they couldn’t throw their weight behind their turns the way the Gryffindors could.

The Hufflepuff beaters worked overtime to try and compensate for their disadvantage, but Gryffindor had already made their first goal by the time they managed to get a bludger anywhere near them.

Watching the match, Harry was very pleased that Flint had postponed their match, as he was pretty sure Draco would have been blown right off of his broom, with the way his arm was.

The very same thing nearly happened to one of the Gryffindor chasers, who estimated her turn wrong, and hit a particularly strong gust of wind too hard. It was hard for Harry to focus on the game with his glasses getting wet, but from what he could see, her broom turned over, and only her desperately tight grip on the broom kept her from plummeting down to Earth.

Harry wasn’t sure how long into the game it was when Wood called for a time out, but his deflection charm had long since lost the fight to the rain, and he could barely see the scoreboard. As far as he could tell, Gryffindor was fifty points ahead, but he couldn’t really be sure.  
As both teams rushed underneath the alcoves that led to the changing rooms, Draco leaned over and said something to him.

“What?” Harry asked very loudly, trying to be heard over the wind that was whipping his scarf into a frenzy.

Draco waved his hand, and they settled back into where they’d leaned against each other, trying to keep at least part of themselves warm.

As both teams scrambled back onto the pitch, Harry desperately pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Although they normally stayed perfectly in place, the rain was causing them to slide down the bridge of his nose, and dangerously close to being knocked off, where he might never find them again.

When the two teams got back into the air, it was clear that both teams had a new strategy- catch the snitch as fast as possible. Longbottom, who Harry had mostly ignored up ‘til then, and the Hufflepuff captain, were both climbing higher than before, heads whipping back and forth to try and see the snitch.

Harry was watching the Hufflepuff seeker when he spotted it- he tore off after it, water streaking down his yellow robes, and Longbottom shot off after him. The two began circling each other, climbing higher, each one desperately trying to catch the snitch.

As Harry watched, though, a thick cloud of fog began to spread across the sky, which was barely moved by the wind. The Gryffindors noticed first- they began shouting violently, trying to get their seeker’s attention. Longbottom, however, seemed not to have noticed, as he kept after the snitch, climbing higher still, his hand stretched out over the length of the broom’s handle.

Harry abruptly turned his head. There was no love lost between him and Longbottom, but from the way the Gryffindors looked, the dementor had noticed Longbottom before he had noticed it.

When he looked back up, he saw Longbottom, broomless, plummeting towards the pitch in an even sharper drop than the one the Gryffindor chaser had narrowly avoided before. As he fell, someone cast a strong softening charm, and he fell through to the ground. The professors, who had recovered from the shock, as one, stood and cast what Harry thought was probably a patronus charm.

A herd of various silvery animals charged forth from the teachers’ box, and rushed the dementors, who turned and went back the way they’d come, the immovable mist curling back in on itself like the ends of their smoky robes.

-

The match ended immediately after that- the Hufflepuff seeker caught the snitch, not noticing what had happened- and the two teams barely stayed long enough to hear the announcement before they were off to the changing rooms.

The rest of the school was just as motivated to get inside, as they thundered from the stands in a great horde, sharp elbows and shoulders pressing into each other where people weren’t watching themselves. The grounds had been reduced to an enormous landslide in the time they’d been watching the game, and Harry nearly fell in when someone shoved against Goyle’s side too hard. It was only Crabbe’s hand on his elbow that kept him from the mud, and he sent her a grateful smile as they hurried back into the castle.

“Merlin, glad we didn’t play…” He heard someone mutter as they trudged back into the school. A great shudder passed through them as they entered the foyer, and the Slytherins, themselves included, hurried off for the dungeons. Harry wanted nothing more than to get in bed and not come out for the rest of the weekend, with how cold he was.

“I doubt Longbottom’ll be able to play for a while, after a fall like that,” mused Draco, as they made their way down the staircase.


	18. The Professor's History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He managed only three pages before he came back to what Lupin had said to him, though. He knew his parents wouldn’t approve of him marrying Draco- Merlin knew they probably rolled over in their graves every time Harry kissed a death eater’s son.
> 
> But they hadn’t been there, he thought. They didn’t get a say in how Harry grew up, because they had thrown their lives away over a war they could have never won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i'm bad at updating
> 
> i took a really bad fall at the gym today, so i've pretty much laid in bed since like 2pm, so expect hopefully two or three more chapters this week

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE PROFESSOR’S HISTORY

 

The day after the Gryffindors’ defeat, Draco had his cast removed- which was useful, as he used his new mobility to reenact Longbottom’s fall from his broom. Apparently, his broom had flown into the whomping willow, and Draco was positively gleeful every time he saw a member of Gryffindor's Quidditch team. 

 

Harry didn’t particularly see why he was so happy- Longbottom’s grandmother would no doubt buy him a newer, nicer broom, which would only make it harder for Draco to beat him. Of course, he kept that to himself.

 

The other benefit from Draco’s cast coming off, at least as far as Harry was concerned, was that he could play again during practice, so instead of having to listen to Draco complain about the rest of the team, Harry could sit in the stands and admire the way that Draco’s robes nicely hugged his shoulders.

 

Unfortunately, Weasley, who up until that point had been forced to cut Draco’s Potions’ ingredients, finally lost his temper at Draco’s two-hundredth impression of a dementor, and threw a crocodile heart in his face. Harry had to help him clean crocodile slime from his hair, and even the fifty points Snape had taken from Gryffindor did little to calm him down.

 

Their double Defense lesson put him in an even worse mood when the Gryffindors, who’d had Professor Snape as a sit-in during their single lesson, complained to Lupin and had him revoke the essay Snape had assigned. 

 

Harry paid more attention than usual to that lesson, as Professor Lupin looked particularly horrible that day. He knew he’d been sick during both the Gryffindors’ and the Ravenclaws’ lessons, but he still looked haggard and grey, as though even being out of bed was exhausting him.

 

Still, that didn’t stop him from showing them a hinkypunk, which he had somehow managed to trap in a little glass box. Harry wondered if perhaps the box was too small for it, but it seemed perfectly happy to bob along inside the box, it’s little smoky hand occasionally moving its lantern, as though adjusting its grip.

 

When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harry among them, but before he could leave, Professor Lupin called out to him.

  
"Wait a moment, Harry," Lupin said. "I'd like a word."   
  


He turned around to cover the hinkypunk’s box with a slightly ratty handkerchief, and Draco glared at the back of his head.

 

“I’ll wait for you,” Draco told him.

 

Harry shook his head. He’d been avoiding Lupin for weeks, and he didn’t want Draco to overhear any of what was sure to be a horrible conversation. “I’ll be down in a minute,” he said, and although Draco cocked an eyebrow at him, he turned and left, Crabbe and Goyle taking up their usual spots at his back.

 

He took a deep breath and turned around. 

 

Lupin had finished with the hinkypunk and had slung an old leather satchel over his shoulder. Harry pulled the strap of his own bag up and tried not to fidget. 

 

“You wanted to see me, Professor?” He asked.

 

Lupin gave him a wan smile, and crooked a finger, indicating that Harry should follow him. His stomach dropped- he’d hoped that Lupin had only wanted to ask if he was alright, or some other asinine question, but instead he led him up the stairs to his office.

 

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time,” Professor Lupin said, as he dropped the old satchel by his desk. “Since the beginning of the year- Forgive me, would you like a cup of tea?”

 

Harry went to shake his head, then changed his mind, and nodded. Tea meant that he would have to stay longer, but since it seemed as though he was going to be there for a bit anyway, he needed something to busy his hands with. “Yes, thank you.”

 

“When I saw you on the train,” said Lupin, as he busied himself with an ugly muggle teapot- Harry barely contained his grimace at it, “I wanted to stop and talk to you then, but I had to make sure the other students were safe.”

 

The professor set the kettle to boiling with a wave of his wand and then walked to the hutch to pull out two teacups. They were perhaps as old as the satchel, and just as worn.

 

“I understand that you don’t want to talk about your boggart- you’ve made that perfectly clear.” He laughed a little, under his breath. “James was like that too, you know. Never wanted to talk about his feelings.”

 

Harry’s heart caught. “...You knew my father?” He asked.

 

Lupin turned, and levitated the two cups of tea, along with mismatched saucers, over to the desk. “Oh yes- I knew your father and your mother.” He smiled again, although this time it was more- alive.

 

Their teacups settled as Professor Lupin took the other chair, and Harry noticed that he’d made the tea with muggle tea bags. He almost wanted to reject it on principle- but here, at last, was someone who had known his parents and  _ wanted _ to talk about them.

 

“The very first time I saw you, Harry, I recognized you immediately,” Lupin lifted his teacup before he pulled out the tea bag, and set it in the saucer. 

 

“You look just like him, you know. Perhaps more,” he gestured at Harry with his cup, “put together.”

 

Harry gripped a nervous hand around the handle of his teacup. “...Were you in school together?” He asked.

 

“Yes.” Lupin smiled, “We met on the train- there were four of us, you see.”

 

“We were fast friends and I-” He swallowed. “Your father never cared that I was different. He was, perhaps, the strongest person I ever met.”

 

Harry wanted to ask- use Narcissa Malfoy’s perfect mask to root out Professor Lupin’s secret- but he felt- he felt  _ small _ under Lupin’s tired smile.

 

“He had quite the talent for trouble, James. I’ll admit I was rather surprised that you hadn’t taken after him, in that respect.” He tapped two long fingers against the side of his teacup, and then took a long drink from the cup, the way someone would drink from a mug- Harry barely suppressed a grimace. “I suppose your friends are less interested in pranks than we ever were.”

 

“...I don’t think Draco’s mother would like that very much, no,” He gave Lupin a tight smile, and smoothed a non-existent wrinkle from his robes. 

 

“I’ve tried to imagine what they would have said, if they knew you’d made friends with a Malfoy,” Lupin took another drink from his teacup, and Harry tried, again, not to wince.

 

“Respectfully, Professor,” Harry said, “I don’t think what they would have said really matters.”

 

Lupin laughed, although it sounded rusty, as though he didn’t do it very often. “You’re more like them than you know,” He said as if this was a great compliment.

 

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say to that, not when he wanted nothing less than to turn out like his parents. “...I wish I could have known them,” he finally said, his fingers wrapped around the stem of his teacup.

 

“I was there, you know- when you were born,” Lupin said. “They couldn’t have loved you more, Harry. If they had wanted you to know anything, it would have been that.”

 

Harry had grown up without parents, without anyone who cared that he spent every night locked in a  _ cupboard _ , as though he were a shameful beast to be hidden away and not a little boy. And his parents had left him to that- they had had a child during a war, and they had died, and they had left him with the worst muggles he had ever met. But there was a ragged man with scars and frayed clothes and broken china who insisted that they had loved him.

 

That was- that was too much.

 

“I- Thank you, Professor.” Harry smiled, although he felt a little overwhelmed. “...Do you think we could talk about this again? Some other time?”

 

Lupin nodded. “Of course. I’m sure you have another class to get to.”

 

And although he didn’t, not really, Harry nodded, gathered his bag, and fled.

 

-

 

Although he wanted nothing more than to go hide in the library for his whole free period, Harry knew that it wouldn’t be worth the mood it would put Draco in, so instead, he headed down to the dungeons.

 

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried, as when he got there, Draco was nowhere to be found, and Crabbe had been dragged into a circle of her dorm mates, who were pressed together over several copies of witch weekly, armed with quills and several sheets of parchment. If Harry had to guess, they were looking for older years who hadn’t signed a marriage contract yet. 

 

Goyle, meanwhile, was in the middle of a chess game with Theodore Nott, to whom he was losing rather spectacularly. Since the three of them all seemed otherwise occupied, Harry took one of the alcoves by the windows and settled in with a book on rune magic in ancient societies.

 

He managed only three pages before he came back to what Lupin had said to him, though. He knew his parents wouldn’t approve of him marrying Draco- Merlin knew they probably rolled over in their graves every time Harry kissed a death eater’s son. 

 

But they hadn’t _been_ _there_ , he thought. They didn’t get a say in how Harry grew up, because they had thrown their lives away over a war they could have never won. His mother had been _wrong_ , he knew that. Just because she wasn’t horrible didn’t cancel that out. He was sure Granger was alright to Longbottom and Weasley, but that didn’t mean her existence in _their_ world wasn’t _wrong_. His mother had been born to the same people who had brought Petunia Dursley into the world- there had to have been something terribly, terribly wrong with her. 

 

And of course, Lupin remembered them fondly- Lupin, who with his disgusting robes and muggle tea bags, could only have been a half-blood, or, Merlin forbid, a mudblood. He must have fought in their stupid, stupid,  _ stupid _ war, must have thought that muggle children deserved the magic they got, deserved to be able to come into their world and pollute it with their horrible muggle ideas- No, Harry’s parents had been wrong. Even if they had really loved him, even if they had wanted to raise him themselves, to give him a real childhood- they  _ hadn’t _ . And Harry had made peace with that a long time ago, that they didn’t get to decide who he would be from beyond the grave. 

 

Besides, where had Lupin been, then, if his parents had loved him so much, and had had such wonderful friends? Where was he, or Weasley’s blood traitor father who had tried to ruin his engagement ball (even if it hadn’t really been for him,) when he was locked in a cupboard, when he was scrubbing his horrid Muggle relatives’ floors, when he was being chased up trees by dogs, when he needed  _ someone _ ? 

 

He focused on his book again and tried to put it out of his mind. Next time, he wouldn’t stop to listen to Lupin’s speeches about his filthy mudblood mother and  _ his _ blood traitor father.

 

-

 

Harry was mostly able to ignore Lupin, and anything he might tell him about his parents. It helped that the term was ending, and so all the teachers were swamped with grading, so as to have parchment free hols.

 

Although everyone was excited for the holidays, Harry was looking forward to Yule more than he ever had- it would be his first Yule at Malfoy Manor, where there would be a ball for the Winter Solstice, and an enormous Yule log, nearly three times the size of the one they lit in the common room. And best of all, he wouldn’t be alone.

 

Even better, as far as the other Slytherins were concerned, there was to be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of the term. 


	19. The Minister's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry was distracted from what the three of them were doing by Draco snogging him again, and they ended up in a particularly complicated pile of limbs, with Harry pressed up against their table, both of their chairs facing each other crookedly, and their hands tangled into each other’s hair.
> 
> It hadn’t even occurred to Harry how they must look, until someone else took their tree.

CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE MINISTER’S RETURN

 

The morning of the second Hogsmeade trip dawned bright and early, and the chatter in the Great Hall nearly drowned out the commotion of the enormous Christmas trees being put up. Even Draco had woken up in a relatively good mood that morning, and that was nearly as rare as seeing a unicorn.

 

Nearly everyone who was old enough to go to Hogsmeade piled into the carriages that morning, and Draco spent the ride there telling them a very funny story about the mudblood he’d seen writing to his sister about the hundreds of ghosts in the Shrieking Shack. The dementors, thankfully, were more dispersed because of the incident during the last Quidditch match, and Harry felt much better going past them that morning than he had any of the other four times he’d been close to them.

 

Once they’d gotten out of the carriages, Crabbe and Goyle wandered off to go shopping- although Crabbe had been bullied into buying her Yule presents early, mostly by her dormmates, Goyle had expected to buy them in Hogsmeade, and had taken her along for a second opinion. Harry wasn’t entirely sure that he believed that, when nearly as soon as they left, Draco wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist like a vice-grip. He used it to steer them towards the Three Broom Sticks, which looked decidedly empty at that time of day.

 

“While they’re off,” Draco said, as he tucked his other hand into the pocket of his outer robe, “shall we go in and warm up?”

 

Harry nodded- despite knowing that Draco had most likely engineered the whole thing so that they could go and snog for the whole morning. It wasn’t as though he had anything he needed in Hogsmeade, and the more time Draco spent on Harry’s bed, the more eager the dorm was to deposit him on the floor, which made snogging there rather difficult.

  
  


-

 

The inside of The Three Broomsticks was, as always, warm and full of smoke, which swirled out in strange curlicued patterns through the chimney. The owner of the pub, Madame Rosmerta, tended the bar, although only two or three people sat at it. She was deep in conversation with a man who looked drunk already (although it was scarcely quarter to ten,) so she didn’t look up when they came in. Draco took advantage of that to find a table in the back of the pub, directly behind a large Christmas tree. Although Draco normally hated anything to do with Christmas, the tree perfectly blocked the rest of the pub’s view, and he discreetly levitated it so that it looked like there wasn’t a table in the corner at all. 

 

Harry thought it was perhaps a bit overzealous, but he didn’t particularly feel like getting into a row with Draco, so he sat and waited while Draco went and got them butterbeers.

 

As he looked around the pub, he noticed that a piece of parchment had been stuck on both sides of the front window, which declared in large letters:

 

BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC:

  
Customers are reminded that until further notice, dementors will be patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade every night after sundown. This measure has been put in place for the safety of Hogsmeade residents and will be lifted upon the recapture of Sirius Black. It is therefore   
advisable that you complete your shopping well before nightfall. 

 

Merry Christmas!

 

Harry shuddered at the thought- one dementor was a horror, but coming across a crowd of them at night sounded like his worst night terrors come true.

 

When Draco came back, and stuck two mugs on the table without looking, Harry tried to push it from his mind. It wasn’t as though he was ever going to be faced with a crowd of dementors, and he had the best winter hols of his life to look forward to. Draco settled into the chair next to him, and slid his hands into Harry’s immaculate curls. 

 

They leaned in towards each other, and Harry’s knee knocked lightly against Draco’s leg. “Sorry,” he muttered against his bottom lip.

 

Instead of responding, Draco leaned forward and kissed him.

 

-

 

Although Draco certainly didn’t let go of him, in between snogging him senseless, he pointed out the other students in the snow, and what he thought each of them had bought. When he saw Granger, accompanied, of course, by Longbottom and Weasley, he went off on a perfect impression of her, complete with hand raising. By the time the three of them actually walked into the pub, Harry was (poorly,) holding down peals of laughter, and Draco leaned against the wall, looking as smug as he could manage.

 

Harry was distracted from what the three of them were doing by Draco snogging him again, and they ended up in a particularly complicated pile of limbs, with Harry pressed up against their table, both of their chairs facing each other crookedly, and their hands tangled into each other’s hair. 

 

It hadn’t even occurred to Harry how they must look, until someone else took their tree.

 

He hadn’t even noticed the tree had moved, until a distinct (and entirely unpleasant) voice cleared itself in front of them.

 

Harry twisted back around in his seat, as he and Draco tried to set themselves to rights. 

 

“I suppose we’ve interrupted some very important Slytherin business,” whispered Weasley in a nasty voice.

 

Draco scowled at him, and ran a hand straight back through his hair, as though that might fix it. “Now, Weaselby, what would Mummy say?” He replied, in the same tone.

 

Weasley flushed as red as his hair, but before he could say anything else, a woman’s voice came from the other side of the tree.     
  


"A small gillywater?” She asked.

 

"Mine," said Professor McGonagall's unmistakably thin voice.

 

"Four pints of mulled mead?”

 

"Ta, Rosmerta," said a booming voice that Harry immediately recognized as the groundskeeper. 

 

"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella?"   
  


Someone hummed in response, in a high and nasally voice.

 

"So you'll be the red currant rum, Minister."   
  


"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," said Fudge's voice. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us…”

 

"Well, thank you very much, Minister," Rosmerta said.   
  


From around the corner of the tree, Harry could see the outline of Madame Rosmerta’s robes as she walked over to the bar, poured herself something, and walked back to the minister’s table.

 

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" came Madame Rosmerta's voice, as she set her drink upon the table with a ‘clink.’

 

Fudge paused for a long moment, during which Harry tried not to lean forward in his chair. Then, the minister said in a quiet voice, "What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?"

  
“I did hear a rumor," admitted Madame Rosmerta.

  
"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" said Professor McGonagall exasperatedly.

  
"Do you think Black’s still in the area, Minister?" whispered Rosmerta. Harry barely heard her from where they were sitting.

  
"I'm sure of it," said Fudge shortly.

  
"You know that the dementors have searched the whole village twice?" Rosmerta asked, a slight edge to her voice, "Scared all my customers away... It's very bad for business, Minister."

  
"Rosmerta, dear, I don't like them any more than you do," said Fudge uncomfortably, "Necessary precaution- unfortunate, but there you are- I've just met some of them. They're in a fury against Minerva here- she won't let them inside the castle grounds."

  
"I should think not," said Professor McGonagall sharply. "How are they supposed to teach with those horrors floating around?"

  
"Hear, hear!" squeaked the nasally voice, who Harry recognized as Professor Flitwick.   
  


"All the same," demurred Fudge, "they are here to protect you all from something much worse. We all know what Black's capable of..."   
  


"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought... I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead."

  
"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," said Fudge gruffly. "The worst he did isn't widely known."

  
"The worst?" said Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity, "Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

 

"I certainly do," said Fudge.

  
"I can’t believe that. What could possibly be worse?" 

 

"You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta," murmured Professor McGonagall. "Do you remember who his best friend was?"

  
"Naturally," said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here- ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"

  
Harry worried at his fingers, his nails locking underneath each other. Longbottom, Granger and Weasley turned to glare at him, suspicious eyes narrowing at him.

  
"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course- exceptionally bright, in fact- but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers-"

  
"I dunno," chuckled Hagrid. "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money."   
  


"You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers!" chimed in Professor Flitwick. "They were inseparable!"

  
"Of course they were," said Fudge. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James was married- their boy, Charlus, is his godson to this very day. He’s no idea of course- he’s going to marry the Malfoy boy, and all the better for it."

 

Professor McGonagall made a high, disapproving noise.

 

“I thought Black was the one who gave up the Longbottoms,” said Madame Rosmerta.

 

“Worse even than that, m'dear…” Fudge dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble. "Not many people are aware that the Longbottoms knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted Frank and Alice at once.” The minister paused. 

 

“He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, Alice had been good friends with Lily Potter since they were girls, and she felt they both ought to go into hiding… But You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm."

  
"How does that work?" said Madam Rosmerta, breathless with interest. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

  
"An immensely complex spell," he said squeakily, "involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find- unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Frank and Alice were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window!"

  
"So Lily Potter was the Longbottoms' Secret-Keeper?" asked Madam Rosmerta.

  
Professor McGonagall hummed. "They devised a plan that they would have a chain of Secret-Keepers- Lily offered to be Frank and Alice’s. James Potter chose Black as theirs. He told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself... and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself."

  
"He suspected Black?" gasped Madam Rosmerta.   
  


"He thought the plan would work best if he was the last link in the chain- and he had suspected for months that someone close to both families had been supplying the Death Eaters with information," said Professor McGonagall darkly. "Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who."   
  


"But James Potter insisted on using Black?"   
  


"He did," said Fudge heavily. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed-" 

 

"Black betrayed them?" breathed Madam Rosmerta.   
  


"He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. When Lily Potter was tortured to death, You-Know-Who gained the Longbottoms’ location. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Neville Longbottom. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it-"

  
"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet.   
  


"Shh!" said Professor McGonagall.   
  


"I met him!" growled Hagrid. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an' James' house after they was killed! They left him alone alright, just left him lyin’ there with his parents dead- an' Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin' motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an' James's Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!" Hagrid roared.

  
"Hagrid, please!" said Professor McGonagall. "Keep your voice down!"   
  


"How was I ter know he wasn' upset abou' Lily an' James? It was You-Know-Who he cared abou'! An' then he says, 'Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him-' Bet he wanted him then, ter make him the way he wanted James to be- But I had me orders from Dumbledore, an' I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. 'I won't need it anymore,' he says.   
  


"I shoulda known there was somethin' fishy goin' on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin' it ter me for? Why wouldn' he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he'd bin the Potters' Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin' ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o' hours before the Ministry was after him.

  
"But what if I'd given Harry to him, eh? Bad enough he’s gone off with a Malfoy, no telling what he’d have been subjected to. His bes' friends' son! But when a wizard goes over ter the Dark Side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to ‘em anymore...."

  
A long silence followed Hagrid's story. 

 

Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction, "But he didn't manage to disappear, did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!"   
  


"Alas, if only we had," said Fudge bitterly. "It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew- another of the Potters' friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Potters' Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself."

  
"Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?" said Madam Rosmerta.   
  


"Hero-worshipped Black and Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how- how I regret that now..." She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.

  
"There, now, Minerva," said Fudge kindly, "Pettigrew died a hero's death. Eyewitnesses- Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later- told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?' And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens..."

  
Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, "Stupid boy... foolish boy... he was always hopeless at dueling... should have left it to the Ministry...."

  
"I tell yeh, if I'd got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I wouldn't've messed around with wands- I'd've ripped him limb from limb," Hagrid growled.

  
"You don't know what you're talking about, Hagrid," said Fudge sharply. "Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I- I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him... a heap of bloodstained robes and a few- a few fragments."

  
Fudge's voice stopped abruptly. There was the sound of five noses being blown.   
  


"Well, there you have it, Rosmerta," said Fudge thickly. "Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black’s been in Azkaban ever since."

  
Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh. "Is it true he's mad, Minister?"   
  


"I wish I could say that he was," said Fudge slowly. "I certainly believe his master's defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man- cruel, pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there's no sense in them... but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You'd have thought he was merely bored- asked if I'd finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the dementors seemed to be having on him- and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know. Dementors outside his door day and night."

  
"But what do you think he's broken out to do?" said Madam Rosmerta. "Good gracious, Minister, he isn't trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?"   
  


“I daresay that is his- er- eventual plan," said Fudge evasively. "But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing... but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he'll rise again...." There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass.

  
"You know, Cornelius, if you're dining with the us, we'd better head back up to the castle," said Professor McGonagall, after a long pause.   
  


One by one, chairs scraped the floor, and all five of them headed for the entrance. The door of the Three Broomsticks opened again, there was another flurry of snow, and the teachers had disappeared.


	20. The Black Sheep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco watched Harry all through dinner, although he didn’t dare say anything in front of anyone else. Although Harry wasn’t hungry, he struggled through a piece of chicken and some beans, before he begged off and went down to the dorms early. To his great surprise, Draco followed him, although he shrugged off Crabbe and Goyle.
> 
> The walk down to the common room was mostly silent, only broken by Draco tugging Harry’s hand into his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no, what's this? a chapter? from me?

CHAPTER TWENTY: THE BLACK SHEEP

Harry’s head swam with all the things the professors had said. He felt as though when he stood up, the ground wouldn’t be solid under his feet.

If Sirius Black really had been a Death Eater, if Lady Malfoy had been wrong- that meant that Harry was only alive because of him. And if the minister had been wrong, and Lady Malfoy had been right- then why had Harry’s godfather (and that word was strange to think,) killed all those people? If they had been best friends, then did that mean Lupin knew Black? Or had Lupin exaggerated how well he’d known Harry’s father?

Questions raced through his head, and he didn’t realize people were talking until Draco jostled his shoulder. He stared at him, his lip between his teeth, as the three Gryffindors in front of them rushed from the pub, one by one.

Harry wrapped a shaky hand around the table, and turned to face him.

“Are you-” Draco pulled his lip out from between his teeth. “Do you want me to go?”

Harry shook his head. His parents were haunting him, he thought distantly. But what was he supposed to do? His parents had been fighting for the losing side- he had known that since the day he had learned what a mudblood was. Someone, someone who Harry had never had a name or a face, or a reason for, had saved his life. If that someone was Sirius Black, if Sirius Black was his godfather- would that mean that Harry would finally have a proper family of his own?

He scolded himself- none of his professors had actually been there- it was all just rumors, conclusions they had drawn after the fact- and what if no one had saved him? What if they had simply missed one little boy, and he wasn’t supposed to be alive at all?

He took Draco’s hand in his shaky one, and leaned into his shoulder. Hadn’t he learned his lesson with Lupin- he’d given up his parents. Just because everyone they knew wanted to tell him how they would have raised him, didn’t change anything in Harry’s life. He’d signed away his own hand in marriage, and he’d made his own friends, his own choices. They didn’t get to take that away from him.

Harry didn't have a very clear idea of how they returned to the castle, although he was briefly knocked out of his thoughts by their passage by the dementors. All he knew was that the return trip seemed to take no time at all, and that he hardly noticed what he was doing, because his head was still pounding with the conversation he had just heard.

  
Draco watched Harry all through dinner, although he didn’t dare say anything in front of anyone else. Although Harry wasn’t hungry, he struggled through a piece of chicken and some beans, before he begged off and went down to the dorms early. To his great surprise, Draco followed him, although he shrugged off Crabbe and Goyle.

  
The walk down to the common room was mostly silent, only broken by Draco tugging Harry’s hand into his.

  
-

The next morning, all but two Slytherins woke up early to find their trunks already gone, and trudged up the stairs to the Main Hall. Harry, who had never actually left Hogwarts for the winter hols, woke up an hour earlier than everyone else, unpacked and repacked his trunk and managed three chapters of a book on hereditary magic before anyone else even woke up. Once Draco had woken up, Harry tried to distract himself by watching him and Zabini squabble, but it was annoying most of the time, and even worse when Harry was worried about leaving things behind and trying not to worry about Sirius Black’s bizarre relationship to him.

It had snowed while they were asleep, so they were ushered into carriages and trundled down to the train station in Hogsmeade, ears pink and stomachs wobbly from passing by the dementors. Harry wondered if anyone could ever get used to that- and then nearly hit himself. People didn’t get used to dementors in Azkaban- they went stark raving mad.

Draco neatly lost Crabbe and Goyle in the shuffle of students, then crowded Harry into a compartment by themselves. Harry knew it was because most of their winter hols would be spent in dress robes, dancing at the Malfoys’ winter ball and walking through the snow in long fur-trimmed robes that were all the rage with high society- but still, it felt nice to pretend that Draco was trying to make him feel better, in his own convoluted way.

About halfway to London, though, a few of the older Slytherins draped themselves over their compartment, and waxed poetic about the Malfoy ball, and how it was their favorite part of Yule, and did Draco want anything in particular? Harry was rather astounded that Draco didn’t hex any of them, or demand they get out as soon as possible.

Instead, he discussed different wood types for burning, and which type of tree did he think they would have that year, and was mostly civil throughout the whole thing.   
Even after they’d left, though, the Slytherins from their own year came and set up shop in their compartment, all of them already ensconced in their normal robes, their outer robes carelessly tossed over the back of the seats in their compartment.  
  
Although Draco looked like he might prefer to gouge his eyes out than sit in a train car for several hours with the other Slytherins, Harry was surprised by how much he enjoyed it. Zabini’s mother had sent him a catalogue from one of the finest Italian robe makers, and Parkinson took great delight in charming the catalogue to replicate itself and passing around the copies. Zabini sat in the middle of the compartment and flipped dramatically from one page to another, like he was giving a lecture on the superiority of using spelled silk thread.

Even when Harry couldn’t care less about the styles Zabini was lauding, he could watch the countryside as they thundered past. It had started snowing early in the afternoon, an hour or so after they’d pulled away from the station, but with Draco’s attention torn away from him, Harry was free to watch it swirl outside their window, the wind blowing the snowflakes away like autumn leaves. To Harry, who’d grown up in Little Whinging, where snow was rare and often led to hours of scrubbing mud from the Dursleys’ floors, it was magical.

Harry wondered if he could find a painting of that stretch of hillside in winter- Lady Malfoy had said he could decorate his bedroom at the Manor any way he wanted (and if the idea of having his own bedroom in Malfoy Manor was the best Yule present he could ever imagine, that was no one’s business but Harry’s own.)

-

Kings’ Cross Station was packed with people, even more than it was in the summer. Harry could see entire families, older and younger brothers and sisters, parents and even a few house elves crowding up to the line, craning their necks to see which compartment their student would come out of. Harry knew that the Malfoys would never do anything like that, and when he searched for them, he found them near the back of the platform, arms neatly linked together, standing nearly still in the rushing crowd of people.

As they pulled all the way into the station, the other Slytherins collected their belongings, waved away the charmed copies of Zabini’s robe catalogue, and dispersed through the door of the compartment, off, Harry assumed, to find their trunks and anything they may have left in another compartment. Draco- who by that time had had quite enough of sitting in a train compartment with people who weren’t totally focused on him- stood up without even smoothing his robes out, and pulled Harry up after him before leaving the compartment without a second glance. Harry knew he hadn’t left anything behind, but he doubted Draco did. Apparently, anything he might have left in the train compartment was less important to Draco than getting off of the train altogether. They found their trunks in record time, even without Crabbe and Goyle behind them, and with the help of Draco’s viciously sharp elbows, they made their way across the platform.

When they reached the elder Malfoys, Lady Malfoy looked like she might have to physically restrain herself from sweeping Draco into her arms. Instead, she pressed two kisses onto either side of his face, and quietly asked him about his arm. Lord Malfoy leveled Harry with one of his unreadable looks, and extended his hand for Harry’s trunk.

“Thank you sir,” Harry said, and handed it over.  
  
Once Lady Malfoy had finished straightening Draco’s robes and both of their trunks had been vanished with a quick translocation spell, the elder Malfoys linked arms with one another and one of them, and the four of them disapparated in a swirl of finely-tailored robes.

  
-

Harry hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed the manor until he was actually there, his winter boots clacking against the marble of the main hall. It certainly didn’t look the same- the work wizards were already re-decorating for the Yule ball- but to look at the high, arching ceilings and the doors to the ballroom and to know that no matter what his parents might have wanted, no matter the status of a godfather he’d never known and probably never would, Harry had a home already.

Lord and Lady Malfoy were immensely busy with the last-minute details of the Yule ball, including having Mr. Twilfitt adjust the dress robes that Lady Malfoy had had made for Harry and Draco.

Of course, Draco wasn’t particularly thrilled with the idea, and Harry felt like a particularly overstuffed pincushion after Mr. Twilfitt had finished his robe. Lady Malfoy had gotten them matching robes for the Yule ball, both in a dark green that reminded Harry of a forest in the middle of the night, and Twilfitt went off on seven tangents on the way different fabrics ‘held’ the color. Harry was pretty sure Draco fell asleep during the third one, but he couldn’t prove it.

Still, it kept them occupied for the first day of winter hols (along with a freezing bout of watching Draco fly,) and the first day of Yule dawned with just enough snow to dust the Manor lawns with white. Harry woke up at half-past eight, much later than he usually slept, and found an owl standing on the ledge of his bedroom window, a very long package held in his beak. Curious despite himself, Harry opened the window, and let the owl inside. Up close, it looked like a rented owl, with its’ dirty feathers and scratched beak. He snapped his fingers, and Missy, the timidest of the Malfoys’ house elves, appeared in front of him.

“What can Missy be doing for young Master Charlus?” She asked, bowing low to the ground.

“I’ll need a dish of water for this owl.” He bit his lip to keep himself from saying please, and as Missy disapparated, the owl gave him a rather nasty look.

Harry huffed, and pulled the package from the owl’s mouth. At least it knew to go and stand on the sill of the window, rather than trying to sit on the loveseat.

On closer inspection, Harry found that the package looked suspiciously like a broom. He certainly didn’t know anyone who would buy him a broom, and he wondered if the owl had gone to the wrong room of the manor, but when he checked the little card that had been tied around what looked like the handle, it read ‘Happy Christmas to Harry James Potter.’ Harry was flummoxed- no one who knew him well enough to call him Harry would ever think he’d want a broom, and they all knew that he didn’t celebrate Christmas.

Harry James Potter. What had Madame Rosmerta said- “Sirius Black and James Potter.” Harry blanched. He was sure his mudblood mother had celebrated Christmas, and had probably gotten Harry’s father to celebrate it, as well. Whatever the truth was about Black betraying Harry’s parents, he was still, technically, legally, Harry’s godfather, and he probably assumed that Harry, with his mother’s filthy muggle blood in his veins, who’d been raised by her sister, would celebrate it too.

He nearly gave the broom back to the owl, but if it was a good enough broom, perhaps he ought to give it to Draco. He couldn’t imagine where a wanted criminal would get a very good broom though, so he peeled back the beige wrapping paper mostly to see how much his godfather valued him- and opened up the most valuable broom in the world. Even if he hadn’t heard Draco wax poetic about it, Harry knew every Quidditch player, hobbyist, fan, etc. wanted a Firebolt, and there he was, holding one that had come straight from a mass murderer. But could Harry really just give Draco a broom that had come from someone who might have let his parents be murdered? Could he even keep it without it exploding and killing him in his sleep?


	21. The Malfoy Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh! What can Missy be getting for Master Draco, sir?” She asked, bowing even lower than she had for Harry.
> 
> “Go and get my parents,” he snapped, “now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god, i'm on a roll this week! i'm trying to bang out the end of this book, so no promises, but fingers crossed, i'll be able to finish it by halloween. there's still a lot of content to write, but i'm feeling good about it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: THE MALFOY BALL

Harry scarcely had time to think of what to do, before Draco barged into his room, with something tucked behind his back.

“Happy- What is that?” Draco pointed an accusing finger to where the gilded number on the broom peeked out from underneath the ugly paper wrapping.

“A Christmas present,” Harry said, “from Sirius Black.” Draco blanched.

“And you opened it?” He demanded, arm unfurling from behind him, Yule present apparently forgotten.

“I didn’t realize who it was from until after I’d opened it!” Harry said, although it wasn’t strictly true.

Draco looked suddenly very ill, and snapped his fingers for a house elf.

Missy reappeared, the forgotten owl’s water in her hand.

“Oh! What can Missy be getting for Master Draco, sir?” She asked, bowing even lower than she had for Harry.

“Go and get my parents,” he snapped, “now.”

Missy nodded vigorously, and then disapparated with a ‘pop.’ She reappeared scarcely a minute later, left the water for the owl, and left again. She didn’t come back, although the elder Malfoys came through the open door of Harry’s bedroom a few seconds later.

“Draco,” said Lady Malfoy, “what on earth is the matter?”

Harry took a step backward, away from where he’d left the broom, and Draco tilted his head at it rather dramatically.

Draco sneered at the letter that Harry had left next to the broom, as though it had personally offended him. “It’s from Sirius Black.”

-

Although the ball was that night, all three of the Malfoys seemed to no longer care. Lord Malfoy ran an exhaustive battery of counter-curses, curse detection spells and anything else he could think of, which Harry imagined was probably more than their Defense teacher could. Lady Malfoy shooed off the poor owl who’d brought the package, and nearly put a warding spell on his window, before she decided against it, and pulled Harry off downstairs, and into her sitting room.

She didn’t bother sitting, simply stood at her writing desk, her fingers tracing the pattern of the wood.

“Charlus,” she finally said, “I’ve always known you were a very bright boy- after all, you were Draco’s friend- so I have no doubt that you know by now, that Sirius was your father’s best friend.”

Harry nodded, and when she looked at him, something seemed to shutter off again, and she composed herself. She waved a hand at the table, and Harry perched on one of the armchairs next to it.

“Then I’m sure you also know that he is, in the most technical sense of the word, your godfather. But, darling,” she said, and Harry felt very glad to be sitting, because Narcissa Malfoy had just called him darling, “you must know that he was not, and never would have been, a follower of the Dark Lord.”

She circled her desk, and pulled a leather tome from the bookcase next to her, before coming to sit in the armchair next to Harry. She opened the tome on the table, and as though she knew it from memory, turned to the page that proudly proclaimed ‘The Black Family Tree.’ It was full of miniature, moving portraits, although this was not a version of it he’d seen before. Where in the trees he’d seen before, there were simply empty spots, here there were portraits for names he’d never seen before.

“I know you’ve seen my family tree, Charlus,” Lady Malfoy said, and Harry nearly started. He’d known Lady Malfoy was a Black, from the time he’d known enough to open a compendium of family trees, but he’d never connected them- that Sirius Black might be one of the Blacks, the house that had gone the same way Harry’s had, with only Narcissa Malfoy escaping the death of her house, whole and un-imprisoned. “But very few people have seen this tree.”

She drew her finger away from where it had stalled next to her own portrait, and dragged it past her parents, Cygnus and Druella, to her aunt Walburga, and her uncle Orion. Where the family trees Harry had seen had only included one son, Regulus, there, next to him, was Sirius Black.

“Sirius was always difficult,” she said, pulling her hand away from the book. “He ran away from home to go and live with your father. I think, up until she disowned him, his mother hoped that he would change your father’s mind, and they would be married. I suppose Sirius might have hoped that as well- I don’t know. But I do know that Sirius thought very little of proper behavior, of responsibility, and if there were a way to dirty his blood, he would try it.”

Harry swallowed, and looked down at the portrait of Sirius Black. Unlike the crazed man in the wanted posters, who looked like he well could be a death eater, the young man in the portrait smirked up at him. Harry had heard enough stories about his father- his father who’d had terrible taste in women, who’d fought to the death for mudbloods, and who had apparently left his only son in the tender care of a man who was even less responsible than he was.

“L- Narcissa,” he said, “I don’t want a godfather. Not that one, at least. If the broom isn’t dangerous, I’d like to give it to Draco and forget all about it.”

Lady Malfoy smiled, and closed the book as gently as she could. “A very bright boy.”

  
-

Once Draco had gotten over the shock of Sirius Black sending Harry a present (and for Christmas, of all things,) he was ecstatic over the Firebolt. It was the best present Harry could have possibly given him, and Harry felt rather pleased with himself for sorting the whole thing out so handily.

After the commotion of the morning, the rest of the afternoon went as smoothly as possible. Draco went and retrieved Harry’s Yule present from where it had been abandoned, and Harry even found it within himself to offer to go watch Draco fly.

While Draco did feints and dives and any other possible move he could think of, Harry unwrapped his Yule present, a thick winter cloak lined with mink fur. He pulled his gloves off to run his fingers through the lining, and then swapped it for the cloak he had worn outside. When Draco landed, color high on his cheeks and laughing, Harry tangled his fingers in Draco’s hair and kissed him breathless.

“You liked your present, then?” He asked him as they walked inside, the cold radiating off of Draco’s fingers as they held hands, even through Harry’s gloves.

“It’s perfect,” Harry told him, and listened to his speech about how the Gryffindor’s, and Longbottom in particular, had no chance of beating Slytherin now that Draco had the best broom in the world.

When Draco went back into his room to take a bath, Harry settled down with a roll of parchment, and jotted down how he’d like to redecorate the room he’d inherited from Lady Malfoy. Although the room was lovely, Harry thought he was going to go mental if he had to sleep on silk sheets for the rest of his life, and he needed more bookshelves if he was going to actually borrow books from the main library.

When he’d finished a rough outline of what changes he’d like to make, he rolled up the parchment, and headed off to find Lady Malfoy. He found her downstairs, still in her sitting room, with an enormous pile of letters perched on her desk.

He knocked on her door as he entered, and she looked up from the letter she’d been composing, the tip of her quill pausing in one of its’ great loops.

“Oh Charlus, do come in,” She said, nodding her head to one of the chairs next to her writing desk.

He slipped inside, and closed the door behind him. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, as he clutched the parchment close to him.

“Not at all,” she smiled. “It is my unfortunate duty to reply to all the letters from the dredges of society who insist their invitations to the ball must have been lost in the post.”

Harry smiled back at her, although he shuddered to think of what Lady Malfoy might reply to someone who dared to insinuate that she’d forgotten to invite them to her ball.

“I doubt you’ve ever lost very many things,” he said, and placed the parchment on her desk, next to the pile of letters. “You mentioned, last summer, that I could redecorate my room,” he paused.  
“When you have time, I’d like to hear what you think of what I’ve written.”

Lady Malfoy smiled at him again, and pulled the piece of parchment closer to her. “Of course, dear. We’ll discuss design over the rest of your holiday.”

Harry nodded, and excused himself before he could do anything particularly stupid, like stutter in front of Lady Malfoy. Instead, he fled back to the safety of his room, and pulled out the dress robes Mr. Twilfitt had just finished for him that morning.

Although he had expected a fur collar on his robes, Mr. Twilfitt had made him traditional Yule robes, and Harry loved them. The sleeves were cut tight to his wrists, much like his summer dress robes, but long swathes of fabric came from the shoulders of the robes, and were attached to the wrists with thin golden cuffs. The skirts of the robes were cut to be more masculine than a female consort’s robes, and so there was one long sheet of golden mail, which had been charmed to be as light and soft as silk, that hung down from Harry’s waist to his calves. Aside from the mail, there was no fabric on the front of the robes, so that Harry’s trousers- which clung to his legs in a way that Lady Malfoy had remarked was “perhaps too adult-” were visible, and the train of the robes were long enough that they would fly out when Harry was dancing.

The best part of them was that Harry didn’t have to crush his ribs into some horrible dragonbone monstrosity to wear them. They were comfortable, lovely to dance in, and they made him look like he belonged in the Malfoy’s ballroom.

  
-

Harry found Draco in the hallway outside his room, and they headed downstairs together. Draco kept sneaking looks at him out of the corner of his eye, and Harry’s stomach did flips all the way down the stairs. He was going to have a good- no, a great holiday- and no one, not even his parents’ dogged ghosts, was going to ruin that for him.

Instead of the three chandeliers that had been hung for the summer ball, the work wizards had erected an enormous Yule tree, nearly ten feet tall, which was covered in snow enchanted not to melt, and lit with delicate golden balls of light, which flew from branch to branch like little birds.

The wizard with the guest list nodded at them, although Draco steadfastly ignored him, and they set off into the ballroom to find Lord and Lady Malfoy.  
The crowd in the ballroom was enormous- nearly ten rows deep, and it was still a quarter to six, the arrival time that had been actually listed. Most of the important guests- members of the other houses of the sacred twenty-eight, ministry officials, foreign dignitaries- wouldn’t arrive until six-thirty, when they would be fashionably late.

All reporters had been banned from the event, which was a relief to Harry, who had had quite enough of being photographed. Instead, a few men who didn’t look entirely as though they should be out of Azkaban had appeared, hovering around the edges of the crowd.

They neatly skirted those men, and instead, Draco guided them through the crowd as though it were as easy as breathing, and found his parents near the center of the ballroom, talking to the ministers, and a few ancient wizards that Harry recognized as school governors for Hogwarts. 


	22. Asking For An Execution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He set down his glass, and said, “This feast is consecrated to the magic that sustains us, the wights, and my ancestors who watch over my steps. Thank you for your bounty.”
> 
> There was an enormous amount of applause, and Harry swore he saw Lord Malfoy roll his eyes as he sat down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> third chapter this week! i'm absolutely killing it rn

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: ASKING FOR AN EXECUTION

  
Although Harry wanted to immediately back away from their conversation, Lord Malfoy, who had been complaining viciously to the governors, drew Draco into their midst.  
“Can you imagine?” Lord Malfoy sneered, his arm wrapped around Draco’s shoulders protectively, “I dread to imagine what a state the school must be in, if dangerous magical creatures are allowed to freely attack the students.”  
Draco took a cue from his father and pointedly rubbed his arm, where the hippogriff had cut him, and Lord Malfoy said very loudly, for the benefit of the governors who had trouble hearing, “It’s a miracle the beast didn’t cost my son- my only son- his arm. Or his life.”

  
The governors looked back and forth between themselves, shooting one another worried looks. It seemed as though they had forgiven Lord Malfoy for the previous year, when, according to Draco, he had threatened to curse their families, and were seriously considering firing the gamekeeper. Harry stood there very quietly, for fear that he might ruin the effect of Lord Malfoy’s speech.

“But Lucius, dear fellow, you cannot mean to say that Minerva has lost control of her school! Why, after Dumbledore’s… departure, the woman is more dedicated than ever.” Said one of the governors, as he stroked the tip of his ratty beard.

“I mean to say that she has trusted a man of dubious intelligence with the safety of our children, and he is severely lacking.” Said Lord Malfoy.

At that, Draco seemed to be dismissed, as Lord Malfoy leaned down to whisper something in his ear, and then let go of his shoulder. Lady Malfoy, who had, until that time, been silent, gently steered both of them away from her husband and the governors, and back into the crowd.

  
She introduced them to society witches and wizards, who Draco barely feigned any interest in, and all of whom eyed Harry with equal amounts of hatred and respect. He made sure to tuck himself into Draco’s side as much as possible, and to discreetly rub his hand after every one of them tried to crush his hand.

After that, Lady Malfoy regrouped them with Lord Malfoy, who excused himself from the governors with a final remark on how dangerous hippogriffs were, and then the two of them made their way to the steps of the ballroom, where Lord Malfoy announced that the guests could begin making their way into the formal dining room.

 

-

 

Dinner was a twelve-course banquet, one course to symbolise each day of the Yuletide. There were platters of dried fruit arranged into Yule scenes, roasted vegetables, followed by roasted chestnuts, and glasses of spiced cider. Wassail, which Harry had heard described as a mulled, frothed ale, was passed out at the beginning of the dinner, and then again when Lord Malfoy made his first toast.

  
“This water is consecrated to the magic of our people, the wights, and my ancestors who watch over my steps. May it please the spirits and make holy all it touches,” he said, as he held up his glass. Then he stepped away from the table and poured half of his glass onto the fireplace that sat behind him. Lord Malfoy went back to his seat, and when he snapped his fingers, an entire suckling pig replaced the plates and trays in front of him.

He set down his glass, and said, “This feast is consecrated to the magic that sustains us, the wights, and my ancestors who watch over my steps. Thank you for your bounty.”

There was an enormous amount of applause, and Harry swore he saw Lord Malfoy roll his eyes as he sat down.

After the suckling pig, there was another toast, and then plates of honeycakes and bowls of mint to clear the palate. Draco stole some of his honeycakes, and Harry decided the next time Draco was cross with him at school, he’d go and have the house elves make him some. Then there was a soup made of squash, and although when Harry thought of squash soup, he imagined something that the Weasleys might have eaten, Draco leaned over and told him that it was a French delicacy, and Harry found it was amazing, although the Minister of Magic accidentally spilling soup on himself did distract him.

After the soup came dainty meat pies, and then more mint, with miniature caraway cakes doused in cider. Then there were delicate candy ribbons that twirled themselves around tiny Yule trees and plates of biscuit ballerinas that danced the Nutcracker suite. Harry didn’t know how traditional those were, but he was dying to know how Lady Malfoy had done it.

For the last course, though, an enormous Yule log, nearly as big as the wooden one in the fireplace, appeared on the main table, and Lord Malfoy made his final toast, before the Yule log split open into perfectly cut slices, plate themselves, and floated to every guest.  


-

 

After dinner, the guests returned to the ballroom, and a group of wassailers sang carols, before they were replaced by a full orchestra, and Lord and Lady Malfoy glided onto the dance floor for the first dance of the night. They moved like they were one person, and Harry wondered if he and Draco would ever dance together like that- as if they knew one another’s steps before they even took them.

After the first dance, there were a few waltzes, followed by the traditional dance circle, and then Lady Malfoy enchanted the ceiling so that magical snow floated down on the dancers.

After the circle dance, at least half of the guests left the ballroom floor and congregated by the doors, which had pushed open to let in the cold air. Since Draco was the heir, they were expected to dance until Lord and Lady Malfoy stopped, at least, and usually a few dances after that.

  
Given that Draco was in a fantastic mood, and Harry had had the best holiday of his life, he certainly didn’t mind. Draco leaned in and told him about some of the embarrassing things that some of the other dancers, older years and some of the foreign dignitaries’ children, had done at previous balls. He used their turns as opportunities to point out where other dancers were getting it wrong, and since Harry’s robes flared out much farther than some other cuts would have, Draco picked him up a few times more than necessary, just to show off.

As soon as Draco’s parents left the ballroom floor, Draco pulled him outside, away from the crowds of people, and out into the rose garden. Harry was pretty sure Draco was a little tipsy, but he hadn’t been in a mood throughout the entire thing, even when someone had almost knocked their drink into Harry’s lap, so he wasn’t going to ruin that.

They sat out on one of the benches in the rose garden and snogged until Harry’s fingers went numb, and then for a little while after that when he just put them in Draco’s pockets, before they went back inside.  


-

  
  
The rest of winter hols passed in nearly a blur of activity. The shrine to a teenaged Lady Malfoy was transformed into a room Harry could actually think of as his, and after the ball, Harry woke up every morning with a swarm of owls outside of his window, there to give him everything from gloves, to cloak pins to an enormous tome of goblin poetry (he’d felt so terrible for the poor owl who’d had to bring that all the way from Coventry that he’d gotten Draco’s owl to share his cage with it.)

Even with the snow, Draco spent two or three hours outside every morning with the Firebolt and a snitch Lord Malfoy had gotten him for Yule. Harry didn’t know very much about brooms, but he did know that none of the other Quidditch players would be able to outpace Draco. He was incredibly excited about it, and on the third day of Yule, he floo-called Marcus Flint, his team captain, to tell him the good news.

Once Flint found out, there were suddenly tons of visitors to Malfoy Manor, mostly Draco’s teammates, who were dying to see a Firebolt up close, and Crabbe and Goyle, who Draco begrudgingly allowed to fly it, under threat of disembowelment if anything happened to his broom.

Since Draco was often busy planning out strategy with his teammates (which he was enormously pleased with himself for,) Harry spent hours in the Manor’s library, pouring over the runic texts that lay untranslated on the shelves, working out what different advanced runes might have meant. He was sure that some of them would be on the end of term exams, and Harry was determined to beat Granger to best in class that year. Harry didn’t need to be the best, certainly- but no one would ever question why a Malfoy would want to marry him if they knew he was the brightest student in their year.

Still, with the sheets and sheets of parchment he had filled, winter hols were over practically before Harry knew it. By the third of January, they were back on the Hogwarts express, thundering towards Scotland once again.

Harry steadfastly ignored the terrifying creatures that pulled the carriages (although they were, thankfully, real, according to a bestiary he’d read over the holiday,) stayed tucked into Draco’s side all the way up to the castle and was safely ensconced in the Slytherin Common Room before he knew it.

-

  
  
Classes started again on the coldest day of the year so far, and Harry took the opportunity to wear his new fur-lined robe whenever they had to go outside, which even managed to improve Care of Magical Creatures, although he was still determined to drop the class for fourth year, and switch to something more sensible, like the musical lessons that while technically not a class, Professor Flitwick guided students through during their free periods. Lady Malfoy had casually mentioned that she had learned to play the harp under his teaching, and that Harry ought to take up the piano or the harpsichord.

  
Still, all of their other classes were relatively warm and safe, and Harry found himself spending his free periods with thick sheaths of parchment that he kept all of his assignments in. Crabbe and Goyle still depended on him to check over all of their assignments, and Draco went with him so he could snog Harry in between bossing Crabbe and Goyle around, so he was kept uninjured no matter where he sat in the library, even when he accidentally took Longbottom and Weasley’s ‘study’ table one afternoon.

The first Slytherin Quidditch match was a week after the start of term, and although Ravenclaw apparently had the best chance of any other house’s team to beat them, Slytherin won handily and kept their lead well above the rest of the teams. Even the Quidditch commentator, Lee Jordan, had begrudgingly admitted that Draco was an amazing flier, although that may have been because of the Firebolt. Still, it did wonders for Draco’s ego, and there were some rumors about Draco becoming Quidditch captain after Flint graduated. Harry wasn’t so sure that Draco would be able, or willing, to put in the work required to be a good Quidditch captain, but the rumors kept Draco in a good mood all throughout February, so Harry just left them be.

To Draco, and everyone else on the Slytherin team’s chagrin, though, Longbottom, who’d recently gotten a Nimbus two-thousand and one, managed to win an incredible match against Ravenclaw, and the scores between the two team were close enough that Slytherin would have to fight for the Quidditch Cup that year.

 

-

  
At breakfast a week later, the morning post brought with it a letter from Lord Malfoy, which Draco was smug and self-satisfied over the entire day.

“Of course, this whole trial business is a sham,” Draco told Crabbe and Goyle as they headed down to Care of Magical creatures that afternoon. “Father’s already convinced the governors to have it killed, although McGonagall won’t let them sack the half-breed.”


	23. The Match Of The Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flint grinned at the crowd, although his mouth was already bloody from what looked like a broken nose.
> 
> "Gryffindor in possession, no, Slytherin in possession- no!” Jordan shouted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm literally dying at this point, but i've gotten more done this weekend then i have in like a year so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: THE MATCH OF THE CENTURY

  
A large group of people was bunched around the bulletin board when they returned to the common room that night. The seventh years looked particularly pleased, since there was going to be a Hogsmeade trip the next weekend, just after a vicious Potions essay was due. Harry was mostly just excited about escaping from another weekend of Quidditch strategies. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, entirely- he was a Slytherin, after all- but he certainly didn’t care enough about it to have to hear about it day in, day out, not only from Draco but from his entire Quidditch team and Crabbe and Goyle.

On Saturday morning, Harry packed his new cloak in his bag and went down to breakfast with everyone else. Flint kept trying to talk to Draco about their Quidditch strategies, but Harry kept the top button of his robes unbuttoned to distract him, and Draco didn’t say a word about Quidditch through the entire morning. They proceeded with everybody else to the front doors at ten o’clock, braced themselves as they went past the dementors, and trundled back into Hogsmeade. Harry wondered if anyone ever got sick of Hogsmeade, although he couldn’t imagine it.

Unlike the previous Hogsmeade weekend, the four of them went together, and although Draco complained unmercifully throughout, they went to the post office, so that Goyle could look at the different owls for his art class. The owls sat and hooted softly down at them, at least three hundred of them, from Great Grays right down to tiny little Scops owls that were so small they could have sat in the palm of Harry's hand.

Then they visited Zonko's, which was so packed with students they nearly left as soon as they went inside. There were materials for every prank imaginable, and Harry counted the entirety of Hogwarts lucky that the Weasleys were so poor, or else the Weasley twins would have destroyed the school their third year. Although Harry could tell there were several things Draco wanted, Lady Malfoy would have had both of their heads if Draco even thought of buying them, so they left with practically nothing.

The day was clear and breezy, and none of them felt like staying indoors, so they walked past the Three Broomsticks and climbed a slope to visit the Shrieking Shack, the most haunted building in Britain. It stood a little way above the rest of the village, and even in daylight  
was slightly creepy, with its boarded windows and dank overgrown garden.

On The way up, Draco started talking about the hearing again, which Crabbe and Goyle thought was enormously funny.

"I should have an owl from Father any time now. He had to go to the  
hearing to tell them about my arm,” Draco said, throwing the arm in question around Harry’s waist, “about how I couldn't use it for three months. I really wish I could hear that great hairy moron trying to defend himself- 'There's no 'arm in 'im, 'onest!’ That hippogriff's as good as  
dead-"

Draco stopped dead as he suddenly caught sight of Weasley and Longbottom, leaning against the fence in front of the shack. He smirked and pointed the two of them out to Crabbe and Goyle  
.  
"What are you doing, Weasley?"Draco asked. He looked up at the crumbling house behind Weasley, and said, "Suppose you'd love to live here, wouldn't you? Dreaming about having your own bedroom? I heard your family all sleep in one room- is that true?"

Harry laughed, and Longbottom seized the back of Weasley's robes to stop him from leaping at Draco.

Longbottom whispered something in Weasley’s ear, and before either of them could do anything, Draco's head jerked forward; his blond hair was suddenly dripping in mud.

Weasley was doubled over laughing, clutching onto the fence he had been standing next to, while Longbottom slipped his wand back into the sleeve of his robes.

Draco looked as though he might kill someone- He spent hours every morning fussing over his hair, making sure it was perfect, and Longbottom had thrown mud -that was watery and probably full of bugs and all sorts of other things, and was currently running down his neck- into his perfect hair.

Harry spelled away the mud, but the damage was done- Draco hexed Longbottom and Weasley, and the lot of them were dragged into McGonagall’s office once Longbottom’s legs started working again.

Both Draco and Longbottom had two weeks worth of detention for fighting on a Hogsmeade trip, and Professor McGonagall advised them if she ever heard them coming to hexes again, they’d be barred from going to the village. Draco, of course, was in a foul mood after that, and not even the news that they were going to kill the hippogriff made him feel any better. Harry tried to make him feel better by letting him snog him in their dorm, but his bed kicked Draco off nearly as soon as they moved closer to one another, which only made it worse.

 

-

 

By the time Draco had stopped serving detention, it was nearing the end of March, and the professors, nearly as one, had started preparing them for final exams. Where Crabbe and Goyle got off relatively easy, and even Draco didn’t have it very bad, Harry was nearly drowning in assignments. When he had to go over every essay four times, do all of his arithmancy calculations twice just in case Draco didn’t feel like doing his, and make copies of his notes for Goyle when he couldn’t read his own handwriting, Harry was practically burnt out by the time that Easter break came.

Draco, meanwhile, had to fit in his homework around Quidditch practice every day, not to mention endless discussions of tactics with Flint. The Gryffindor-Slytherin match would take place on the first Saturday after the Easter holidays, and Slytherin was only leading the tournament by two hundred points. That meant that Gryffindor could still win the match if they managed to score five goals and Longbottom captured the snitch before Draco- so the burden of winning fell largely on him.

The whole school was obsessed with the coming match. Apparently, Gryffindor hadn't won the Quidditch Cup since the ‘legendary’ Charlie Weasley had been the team’s seeker, and Slytherin had won the cup the previous seven years in a row, meaning that both houses had enormous stakes in the game. But Harry doubted whether any of them, even the captains, wanted to win as much as Draco did. The enmity between he and Longbottom was at its highest point ever- Draco was still smarting about the mud-throwing incident in Hogsmeade, and was  
even more furious that Longbottom had gotten him detention in the process. For Longbottom, it was the matter of the hippogriff that made him determined to beat Draco in front of the entire school.

Never, in any of the students’ (or some of the teachers’) memory had a match approached in such a highly charged atmosphere. By the time the holidays were over, the tension between the two teams and their Houses was at the breaking point. A number of scuffles broke out in the corridors, culminating in a nasty incident in which a Gryffindor fourth year and a Slytherin sixth year  
ended up in the hospital wing with leeks sprouting out of their ears. Harry was having a particularly bad time of it. Since he was practically attached at Draco’s hip, he couldn't walk to  
class without Gryffindors sticking out their legs and trying to trip him on the stairs. Crabbe and Goyle had to follow Draco even closer than usual, and Flint had given instructions that Draco should be accompanied everywhere he went, in case the Gryffindors tried to put him in the hospital wing.

Draco, however, was more concerned for his Firebolt's safety than his own. When he wasn't flying it, he locked it securely in his trunk and frequently went back down to the dungeons to make sure no one had stolen it, always dragging Harry and his crowd of Quidditch players with him.

All usual pursuits were abandoned in the Slytherin common room the night before the match, and instead, half of the couches had been moved into a circle, where the entire Quidditch team, along with fiancés, girlfriends, boyfriends and anyone else who had managed to find a seat. In the center was a model of the Quidditch pitch, complete with moving replicas of the team’s players, which the team captain, Marcus Flint, was using to draw up plays with the tip of his wand.

Draco sat near the center and waved off anyone who even suggested he was nervous, but Harry could tell he was worried about whether he’d be able to beat Longbottom. Although he didn’t think anyone else had noticed, for a brief second he looked relieved when Flint ordered the whole team to go to bed.

 

-

 

Harry went down to the Great Hall with the rest of the Slytherins the next morning, and when the Quidditch team followed a few minutes later, already in uniform, the whole of Slytherin house gave them a standing ovation. When the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall, it was to enormous applause from all three of the other houses, which nearly drowned out the way the other Slytherins hissed loudly as they passed. Harry noticed, when Draco came and sat down next to him, he looked even paler than usual, and so Harry actually asked him questions about what moves he would be using during the game, even though he had heard them so many times it was a wonder they weren’t burned into his brain.

When he and the rest of the team left, it was to an even louder and more exuberant standing ovation, to make up for the fact that the rest of the school had applauded the Gryffindors again when they’d left.

Harry found that even he was nervous, and so he brought Crabbe and Goyle down to the stands early. By the time the stands had filled up, three-quarters of the crowd were wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags with the Gryffindor lion upon them, or brandishing banners with slogans like "GO GRYFFINDOR!" and "LIONS FOR THE CUP.”

Behind the Slytherin goal posts, however, two hundred people were wearing green- the silver serpent of Slytherin glittered on their flags, and Harry could see Professor Snape sitting in the very front row, wearing green like everyone else.

"And here are the Gryffindors!" yelled Lee Jordan, when the Gryffindors came out of the changing rooms. "Longbottom, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best team Hogwarts has seen in a good few years-"

  
The rest of Jordan’s sentence was drowned out by a tide of "boos" from their section.

  
"And here come the Slytherin team, led by Captain Flint. He's made some changes in the lineup, and seems to be going for size rather than skill-" Jordan was cut off again by more booing.

Harry, although he hated to admit it, thought Jordan may have had a point. From far away, Draco was easily the smallest person on the Slytherin team- the rest of them were enormous.

"Captains, shake hands!" called Madam Hooch.

Flint and Wood approached each other and grasped each other's hand very tightly- as usual, it looked as though they were trying to break each other's fingers.

"Mount your brooms!" said Madam Hooch. "Three, two, one!"

The sound of her whistle was lost in the roar from the crowd as fourteen brooms rose into the air.

"And it's Gryffindor in possession,” said Jordan, “Alicia Spinnet of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, heading straight for the Slytherin goal posts, looking good, Alicia! Ugh, no- Quaffle intercepted by Warrington, Warrington of Slytherin tearing up the field- Wham! Nice Bludger work there by George Weasley, Warrington drops the Quaffle, it's caught by Johnson- Gryffindor back in possession, come on, Angelina- nice swerve around Montague- duck, Angelina, that's a Bludger! SHE SCORES! TEN-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"

Johnson punched the air as she soared around the end of the field, and the sea of scarlet below her was screaming its delight nearly as loudly as the Slytherin section was screaming for a new announcer. Johnson was nearly thrown from her broom as Marcus Flint went smashing into her.

"Sorry!" said Flint as the crowd below booed. "Sorry, didn't see her!"

A moment later, one of the Weasleys chucked his Beater's club at the back of Flint's head. Flint's nose smashed into the handle of his broom and began to bleed. The Slytherin section exploded again, and Harry thought he might go deaf by the end of the match, although he was screaming just as loud as anyone.

"That will do!" shrieked Madam Hooch, zooming between then. "Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to their Chaser!"

"Come off it, Miss!" howled Weasley, but Madam Hooch blew her whistle and Johnson flew forward to take the penalty.

"Come on, Alicia!" yelled Lee into the silence that had descended on the crowd. "YES! SHE'S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TWENTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"

The rest of the stands erupted into applause, and their section howled with anger.

Flint, still bleeding profusely, flew forward to take the Slytherin penalty. Wood was hovering in front of the Gryffindor goal posts, his jaw clenched.

"'Course, Wood's a superb Keeper!" Lee Jordan told the crowd as Flint waited for Madam Hooch's whistle. "Superb! Very difficult to pass- very difficult indeed- THAT WASN’T REGULATION!" Jordan howled, as Flint threw the quaffle in through Wood's legs.

Flint grinned at the crowd, although his mouth was already bloody from what looked like a broken nose.

"Gryffindor in possession, no, Slytherin in possession- no!” Jordan shouted. “Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she's streaking up the field- THAT WAS DELIBERATE!"

Montague, a Slytherin Chaser, had swerved in front of Bell, and instead of seizing the Quaffle had grabbed her head. Bell cartwheeled in the air, managed to stay on her broom, but dropped the Quaffle.

Madam Hooch's whistle rang out again as she soared over to Montague and began shouting at him. A minute later, Johnson had put another penalty past the Slytherin Keeper.

"THIRTY-TEN! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING-" Jordan shouted.

"Jordan, if you can't commentate in an unbiased way-" Professor Flitwick had stood up from his post next to Jordan, and was now wagging one very long finger at him.

"I'm telling it like it is, Professor!" Jordan protested.

Harry felt his stomach sink. He scanned the top of the pitch for Draco and found him hovering by the Ravenclaw stands. He seemed to have seen the Snitch- Harry could see it was shimmering at the foot of one of the Gryffindor goal posts- Draco would have to catch it fast, the way the match was going.

“It's Gryffindor in possession again, as Johnson takes the Quaffle- Flint alongside her- poke him in the eye, Angelina! It was a joke, Professor, it was a joke- oh no- Flint in possession, Flint flying toward the Gryffindor goal posts, come on now, Wood, save!" Yelled Lee Jordan.

But Flint had scored- there was an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin end, and Jordan swore so badly that Professor Flitwick tried to tug the magical megaphone away from him. "Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won’t happen again! So, Gryffindor in the lead, thirty points to twenty, and Gryffindor in possession."

It was quickly turning into the dirtiest Quidditch game Harry had ever seen. Enraged that Gryffindor had taken an early lead, their team was rapidly resorting to any means to take the Quaffle. Bole hit Johnson with his club and tried to say he'd thought she was a Bludger. One of the Weasleys elbowed Bole in the face in retaliation. Madam Hooch awarded both teams penalties and Wood managed a save, making the score forty-twenty to Gryffindor.

The snitch had disappeared, and Draco was keeping close to Longbottom, the two of them both searching the pitch. Johnson scored again. Fifty-twenty. Both Weasleys were swooping around her, clubs raised, in case any of the Slytherins were thinking of revenge. Bole and Derrick took advantage of their absence to aim both Bludgers at Wood- they caught him in the stomach, one after the other, and he rolled over in the air, clutching his broom, completely winded.

Madam Hooch was beside herself. "YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE QUAFFLE IS WITHIN THE SCORING AREA!" she shrieked at Bole and Derrick. "Gryffindor penalty!"

Bell scored. Sixty-twenty. Moments later, a Weasley pelted a Bludger at Warrington, knocking the Quaffle out of his hands. Johnson seized it and put it through the Slytherin goal- seventy-twenty. The Slytherin section went ballistic- Harry was afraid someone was going to be taken to the hospital wing.

The Gryffindor crowd was screaming itself hoarse- Gryffindor was fifty points in the lead, and if Longbottom caught the Snitch now, the Cup was theirs. Longbottom was soaring around the field, high above the rest of the game, with Draco trailing along behind him.

Harry could tell when he saw it- the snitch was sparkling twenty feet above him, and Longbottom put on a huge burst of speed- he was way in front of Draco, too far even for a Firebolt to overtake him before he caught the snitch- but Draco had thrown himself forward, caught the end of Longbottom’s broom, and was now pulling him back, preventing him from reaching the snitch.

Longbottom looked angry enough to hit Draco, but couldn't reach- Draco, Harry could see, was panting with the effort of holding onto Longbottom’s broom, but the snitch had disappeared again.

"Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I've never seen such tactics." Madam Hooch screeched, shooting up to where Draco was sliding back onto his broom.

"YOU CHEATING SCUM!" Lee Jordan was howling into the megaphone, dancing out of Professor Flitwick's reach. "YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B-"

Professor Flitwick didn't even bother to tell him off- he was actually shaking his finger in Draco’s direction, his scarf had been lost to the crowd, and he too was shouting furiously.

Johnson took Gryffindor's penalty, but she was so angry she missed by several feet. The Gryffindor team was losing concentration and their team, delighted by Draco's foul on Longbottom, were being spurred on to greater heights.

"Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal- Montague scores-" Lee groaned. "Seventy-thirty to Gryffindor."

Longbottom was now marking Draco so closely their knees kept hitting each other. Longbottom apparently wasn't going to let Draco anywhere near the Snitch.

Harry could see Draco as he yelled in frustration when he tried to turn and found Longbottom blocking him.

"Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on, Angelina, COME ON!" Jordan shouted.

Harry looked down- every single Slytherin player apart from Draco was streaking up the pitch toward Johnson, including the Slytherin Keeper- they were all going to block her.

Longbottom wheeled his broom around, bent so low he was lying flat along the handle, and kicked it forward. He shot toward the Slytherin team, screaming like a banshee.

  
They scattered as he zoomed toward them- Johnson’s way was clear.

"SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor leads by eighty points to thirty!" Jordan was screaming into the megaphone, waving his hands back and forth like a madman.

Longbottom, who had almost pelted headlong into the stands, skidded to a halt in midair, reversed, and zoomed back into the middle of the field, but it was too late- Draco was diving, a look of triumph on his face- there, a few feet above the grass below, was a tiny, golden glimmer.

Longbottom urged his broom downward, but Draco was miles ahead- His hand clamped around the snitch, and he pulled out of his dive, his hand in the air, and the stadium exploded. Harry shot out of his seat and was on his feet with the rest of the Slytherins, screaming himself hoarse.

The entire Slytherin team came crashing into Draco, tangled together in a many-armed hug, the Slytherin team sank, yelling hoarsely, back to earth.

Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle were off like a shot, down the stairs with the rest of the emerald crowd, wave upon wave of Slytherin supporters were running down the stairs onto the field.

Harry had a confused impression of noise and bodies pressing in on him, and then they were out on the field too, fighting towards where the Slytherin team had been hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd.

Harry grinned like mad as they were borne toward the stands, where McGonagall stood waiting with the enormous Quidditch Cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: i think i fixed all of my typos, but if you see any more, please let me know!


	24. Cat, Rat, Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first exam was Care of Magical Creatures, where the gamekeeper checked that each of their flobberworms (the most disgusting creatures alive, perhaps, but thankfully not dangerous,) was still alive. Once Harry’s had been deemed healthy, he went straight back up to the castle, and vowed he’d never get near anything with the word flobber in its name again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this the third to last chapter! i am a champion. uh, this chapter is a little short, but the next one is really long, so hopefully you'll forgive me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: CAT, RAT, DOG

Draco's euphoria at winning the Quidditch Cup lasted at least a week. Even the weather seemed to be celebrating; as June approached, the days became cloudless and sultry, and all anybody felt like doing was strolling onto the grounds and flopping down on the grass with several pints of iced pumpkin juice, perhaps playing a casual game of Gobstones or watching the giant squid propel itself dreamily across the surface of the lake.

But they couldn't. Exams were nearly upon them, and instead of lazing around outside, the students were forced to remain inside the castle, trying to bully their brains into concentrating while enticing wafts of summer air drifted in through the windows. Even Fred and George Weasley had been spotted working; they were about to take their O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels). In Slytherin house, it was even worse- anyone who didn’t already have the gravity of a sacred twenty-eight family name was hoping to go and work for the ministry, in some form or another. Since they needed near perfect O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s to do so, the Slytherin common room was practically off limits to anyone who wasn’t going to do work silently.

Their first exam was Care of Magical Creatures, where the gamekeeper checked that each of their flobberworms (the most disgusting creatures alive, perhaps, but thankfully not dangerous,) was still alive. Once Harry’s had been deemed healthy, he went straight back up to the castle, and vowed he’d never get near anything with the word flobber in its name again.

They had Potions that afternoon, which was an unqualified disaster. Longbottom couldn’t get his Confusing Concoction to thicken, and Snape, standing watch with an air of vindictive pleasure, scribbled something that looked suspiciously like a zero onto his notes before moving away. In frustration, Longbottom accidentally made his cauldron blow up, and nearly half of their class had to be taken to the hospital wing. Since Harry’s cauldron was just across from Longbottom’s that included him. Draco had narrowly avoided being splashed with the toxic sludge Longbottom had managed to brew, but he did come to the hospital wing after the exam was over to complain bitterly. Harry, who had to go and re-take his exam as soon as he got out of Madame Pomfrey’s careful gaze, couldn’t have agreed more.

Then came Astronomy at midnight, up on the tallest tower, after which Harry nearly had a nervous breakdown. Then, History of Magic on Wednesday morning, in which Harry scribbled everything he had ever read about medieval witch-hunts, while trying to discreetly let Draco copy his answers. Wednesday afternoon meant Herbology, in the greenhouses under a baking-hot sun, then back to the dorms once more to treat their sunburnt necks, thinking longingly of that time the next day, when it would all be over.  
  
Harry’s third to last exam, on Thursday morning, was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin had compiled the most unusual exam any of them had ever taken- a sort of obstacle course outside in the sun, where they had to wade across a deep paddling pool containing a Grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps, squish their way across a patch of marsh while ignoring misleading directions from a Hinkypunk, then climb into an old trunk and battle with a new Boggart.

“Excellent, Harry,” Lupin muttered as Harry climbed out of the trunk, his hands shoved in his pockets so that Lupin couldn’t see them. “Full marks.”

Unbearably relieved, Harry waited for Draco to finish his exam. He did everything perfectly until he reached the trunk with the Boggart in it. After about a minute inside of it, he burst out again, shivering.

Although he had managed to cast ‘riddikulus,’ Draco was quiet and moody throughout the rest of the afternoon, and Harry didn’t hear him say anything until after they’d finished their Arithmancy exam, during which Draco had actually concentrated and put a concerted effort into doing it perfectly.

Draco wished him luck on his Ancient Runes exam, which was concerning in how strange it was, but he, Crabbe and Goyle were off to their Divination exam before Harry could think of anything else to say.

Harry, who had been making his own rune charts with Nott since the first day of class, found that the exam was incredibly easy, and since Draco had remembered that the Hippogriff’s execution was that evening, he’d perked up considerably. The four of them went down to the grounds as soon as dinner was over, and although Harry really didn’t want to watch, Draco had brought an enchanted pair of sneak’o’scopes that looked nearly identical to a pair of binoculars.

“Did you see the big, fat blubbering oaf?” He asked Goyle, as they passed the sneak’o’scopes back and forth between them. “Oh, this is going to be rich. Did I tell you, Father said I can keep the head?”

“Why would you want that?” Harry asked, despite himself.

Draco opened his mouth to answer him, but Crabbe distracted him by pointing out Longbottom, Weasley, and Granger coming up over the hill from the hut the gamekeeper live in.

“Ah. Come to see the show?” Draco called, smug smirk fixed in place.

Granger charged up the hill, Longbottom, and Weasley running to catch up to her, and before they could stop her, she had slammed Draco into the tree they were standing next to, the tip of her wand jabbed into his neck.

“You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach-” She snarled, before Weasley caught up with her and pulled her back.

“Hermione, no! He's not worth it.” He said.

She nodded, then thought better of it, and quick as lightning, punched him in the face, putting him flat on his back. Harry fell forward, and although he was sure Lady Malfoy would have skinned him alive for doing it, pressed the sleeve of his robe to Draco’s freely bleeding nose. 

Crabbe and Goyle seemed stunned into inaction, and then, as one, they pulled their wands on Granger. Draco sat up, and pushed Harry’s hand away from his face before springing to his feet. For a minute, it looked as though hexes were about to start flying, until suddenly the sound of voices drifted up from the school gardens. There was a jumble of indistinct male voices, a silence, and then, without warning, the unmistakable swish and thud of an axe.

Granger swayed on the spot, and Weasley looked as though he were going to be sick.

“They did it!” Granger hissed at Longbottom. “I d-don’t believe it- they did it!”

Harry couldn’t believe how affected they were- the three of them stood transfixed with horror, a the very last rays of the setting sun cast a sort of bloody light over the long-shadowed grounds. Then, behind them, they heard a wild howling.

“Hagrid,” Longbottom muttered. 

Granger’s breathing was shallow and uneven. “How could they?” she choked. “How could they?”

She looked as though she might try for another punch, but the four of them were still pointing their wands at her, and she seemed to think better of it. The light was fading fast, and a strange squealing came from Weasley’s pocket.

“Scabbers, keep still,” Weasley hissed, clamping his hand over his chest. His pocket was wriggling madly. “What’s the matter with you, you stupid rat? Stay still- OUCH! He bit me!”

The rat was plainly terrified. He’d writhed into Weasley’s hands, and with all his might was trying to break free of his grip.

“What’s the matter with him?” Longbottom asked.

But Harry had just realized- slinking toward the seven of them, his body low to the ground, was an enormous cat. Whether he could see them or was following the sound of the rat's squeaking, Harry couldn’t tell.

“Crookshanks!” Granger moaned. “No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away!”

But the cat was getting nearer- followed by an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog.

Harry had lowered his wand, and he went to raise it, but it was too late- the dog had made an enormous leap and the front paws hit him on the chest- he keeled over backward in a whirl of hair. He felt its hot breath, saw inch-long teeth, and then it was clamping its teeth around the back of Harry’s cloak and hauling him away from the rest of them. He scrambled for the clasp, and cursed what he had originally loved about it- Draco’s ostentatious taste meant that the clasp, which was a gilded silver bar that hooked through a loop, wouldn’t unclasp unless the cloak was sitting flat on Harry’s shoulders, not under the pressure of his entire body weight.

He could see the strange group they made, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Longbottom, Weasley and Granger, all heading towards him, although the edges of his vision going a little fuzzy. Then, suddenly, he looked up and saw the branches of the whomping willow- the dog was dragging Harry backward into a large gap in the roots- he tried to twist out of his cloak, but that only cut off his air supply, and his head and torso were already slipping under the tree.

Someone shouted his name, trying to follow, but the sound of a heavy branch cut them off. Harry was now totally in the tree, being dragged down an earthy slope to the bottom of a very low tunnel.


	25. Into The Shack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry couldn’t believe the man in front of him was the same one who had once been Narcissa Malfoy’s cousin- a mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows, and if dark eyes hadn’t been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. His waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second to the last chapter! the last one is gonna be insanely long, so idk when i'm gonna finish it, but it'll definitely be today.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: INTO THE SHACK

 

On and on went the passage- it felt as though it was never ending- and all Harry could think of was what the enormous dog was going to do to him. He was drawing breath in sharp, painful gasps, trying to keep himself conscious. And then the tunnel began to rise- moments later it twisted, and ahead Harry could see a patch of dim light through a small opening. It felt as though the bottom of Harry’s stomach had fallen out.

The dog pulled him forward, into a very disordered, dusty room. Paper was peeling from the  
walls, there were stains all over the floor, and every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up, and they had emerged from a hole in the floor. A door to the right stood open, leading to a shadowy hallway.

Harry looked around- there had to be some way to escape from the dog- his eyes fell on a wooden chair near them. Large chunks had been torn out of it, and one of the legs had been ripped off entirely. If he could just reach it, he could break off a leg of the chair, could hit the dog just long enough to distract it… at that moment, the dog dragged him through the door, into the hall, and up the crumbling staircase. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and Harry let out a strangled whimper as he realized where he was- he was in the Shrieking Shack, the ‘most haunted house in Britain,’ that no one ever, ever went into. Harry was going to die.

  
They reached a dark landing, and the dog shoved open a partially broken door. There was an ancient four-poster bed with dusty hangings, and the dog dropped Harry by the side of the bed. He scrambled up on the bed, practically ripping off his cloak as he went, before he pressed himself up against the very back of the bed.

Harry tried to think of something he could use to fight off the dog- his wand had been lost somewhere in the scuffle, and it wasn’t as though Harry, who was skinny as a rod, would be able to physically overpower an enormous dog. But then, before his very eyes, the dog transformed into a person- into Sirius Black. He settled into the shadows and didn’t say a word.

Harry couldn’t believe the man in front of him was the same one who had once been Narcissa Malfoy’s cousin- a mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows, and if dark eyes hadn’t been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. His waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull.

He gave Harry a strange, tentative smile, and then raised a finger to his lips when Harry opened his mouth. He shut it with a ‘clack.’

They sat there, Harry on the mouldering bed, and Black in one of the ancient, shredded chairs, tucked behind the door they had come in through. Harry kept expecting Black to say something to him, but it never came. They sat there for what felt like hours, staring at one another, before there was a quiet ‘thunk’ on the stairs, and Granger’s cat came through the door. He slipped past Black, who ran his dirty fingers over the top of his head, and then came and jumped on the old four-poster, before settling in Harry’s lap. He wondered if the cat knew Harry hated his owner and was going to hex her as soon as he made it out of the house of horrors he was currently in.

A few minutes later, there came a creak from the stairs, and then, wand held tightly before him, Longbottom kicked the door wide open. The cat on Harry’s lap began purring loudly at the sight of his owner, who peeked out from behind him. Weasley came out from behind them, and the three of them crossed over to the bed.

“Where’s the dog?” Longbottom demanded.

“Not a dog,” Harry rasped. His throat felt like it had been rubbed raw by muggle sandpaper, and he pressed a hand to his neck. “It’s a trap.”

“What-” Longbottom glared at him, ready to blame him. 

Harry cut him off, “He’s the dog- he’s an Animagus.”

From over Longbottom’s shoulder, Harry could see Black stand up. Longbottom wheeled around, but the man in the shadows closed the door behind them with a snap of his fingers. His yellow teeth were now bared in a grin

“Expelliarmus!” he croaked, pointing Harry’s wand at the three of them.

Their wands shot out of their hands, high in the air, and Black caught them. Then he took a step closer.

His eyes were fixed on Longbottom.

“I thought you’d come and help your friend,” he said hoarsely. His voice sounded as though he had long since lost the habit of using it.

“You’re like your mother,” he said. “She would have done the same for Lily. Brave of you not to run for a teacher. I’m grateful- it will make everything much easier.”

Harry was suddenly incredibly nervous. What if Lady Malfoy had been wrong all along? Or even worse, what if Black really had gone mad in Azkaban?

Suddenly, Longbottom started forward, but there was a jolted movement on either side of him and two pairs of hands grabbed him and held him back.

“No, Neville!” Granger gasped in a petrified whisper- Weasley, however, spoke to Black.

“If you want to kill Neville, you’ll have to kill us too!” he said fiercely, though Harry noticed that the effort of standing upright was making him look rather green, and he swayed slightly as he spoke.

Something flickered in Black’s shadowed eyes.

“Lie down,” he said quietly to Weasley. “You’ll damage that leg even more.”

“Did you hear me?” Weasley said weakly, though he was clinging to Longbottom to stay upright.

“You’ll have to kill all three of us!”

“There’ll be only one murder here tonight,” said Black, and his grin widened.

“Why’s that?” Longbottom spat, trying to wrench himself free of Weasley and Granger. “Didn’t care last time, did you? Didn’t mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew- What’s the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?”

“Neville!” Granger whimpered. “Be quiet!”

“HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!” Longbottom roared, and with a huge effort he broke free of his human restraints and lunged forward.

Perhaps it was the shock of Longbottom doing something so stupid, but Black didn’t raise the wands in time- one of Longbottom’s hands fastened over his wasted wrist, forcing the wand tips away, and his other hand formed a fist and collided with the side of Black’s head. They fell backward into the wall in a tangle of limbs. 

Granger started screaming, Weasley was yelling something about not losing anyone else, and there was a blinding flash as the wands in Black’s hand sent a jet of sparks into the air that barely missed Longbottom’s face. The shrunken arm in Longbottom’s grip twisted madly as Longbottom clung on for dear life, his other hand punching every part of Black it could find.

But Black’s free hand had found Longbottom’s throat.

“No,” he hissed, “I’ve waited too long-”

The fingers tightened, Longbottom choked, and Harry was absolutely sure that Black had gone barmy in Azkaban.

Granger surged forward to kick Black off, and he let go of Longbottom with a grunt of pain- Weasley, who Harry could now see was bleeding heavily from his leg- had thrown himself on Black’s wand hand and there was a faint clatter as they rolled across the floor.

The cat on Harry’s lap sprang onto the writhing pile of bodies on the floor, and Harry bolted for the wands that were now rolling freely away from the fight. 

Longbottom fought free of the tangle of bodies and threw himself toward his own wand, but Granger’s cat had joined the fray, and both sets of his front claws had sunk themselves deep into Longbottom’s arm. Longbottom threw him off, but Harry had now grabbed all of their wands from the floor.

“NO YOU DON’T!” roared Longbottom, and he tackled Harry to the ground. He wrested his wand out of Harry’s hand and shouted at all of them to get back.

Granger, gasping for breath with a bloodied lip, scrambled aside, snatching up her and Weasley’s wands from Harry’s lax grip. He just barely kept hold of his own, and then Harry scrambled into the corner of the room, desperately trying not to think of what might be there.

Weasley crawled to the four-poster and collapsed onto it, panting, his white face now tinged with green, both hands clutching his bloody leg.

Black was sprawled at the bottom of the wall. His thin chest rose and fell rapidly as he watched Longbottom walking slowly nearer, his wand pointing straight at Black’s heart.

“Going to kill me, Neville?” he whispered.

Longbottom stopped right above him, his wand still pointing at Black’s chest, looking down at him. A livid bruise was rising around Black’s left eye and his nose was bleeding.

“You killed my parents,” said Longbottom, his voice shaking slightly, but his wand hand quite steady.

Black stared up at him out of those sunken eyes.

“I don’t deny it,” he said very quietly. “But if you knew the whole story.”

“The whole story?” Longbottom repeated, his voice very loud again.“You sold their only protector to Voldemort. That’s all I need to know.”

“You’ve got to listen to me,” Black said, and there was a note of urgency in his voice now. “You’ll regret it if you don’t- you don’t understand...”

“I understand a lot better than you think,” said Longbottom, and his voice shook more than ever. “You never heard her, did you? My mum, begging Voldemort not to kill me- and you did that. You did it.”

Before either of them could say another word, Granger’s cat streaked past Harry, and leaped onto Black’s chest and settled himself there, right over Black’s heart. Black blinked and looked down at the cat.

“Get off,” he murmured, trying to push the enormous thing off of him.

But the cat had sunk his claws into Black’s robes and wouldn’t shift. He turned his ugly, squashed face to Longbottom and looked up at him with those great yellow eyes. On the opposite side of the room, Granger gave a dry sob.

Longbottom stared down at Black and the cat, as though he’d never seen anything like either before (and frankly, Harry thought, he probably hadn’t.) Longbottom’s grip tightened on his wand and raised it.

The seconds lengthened. And still Longbottom stood frozen there, wand poised, Black staring up at him, the cat on his chest. Weasley’s ragged breathing came from the bed, while Granger was silent, and Harry himself scarcely dared to breathe. His brain was racing with all of the bizarre scenarios that could have possibly led to that moment, each one more far-fetched than the last.

Then, so slowly Harry thought he was imagining it, Longbottom’s wand lowered incrementally. Black’s face was quite expressionless. For a few seconds, he didn’t move at all. Then, very slowly, he raised himself from the floor.

“Will you listen now?” He asked Longbottom, his voice nearly inaudible, it was so hoarse. When Longbottom nodded, Black suddenly crossed to the four-poster bed and sank onto it, his face hidden in one shaking hand. The cat leaped up beside him and stepped onto his lap, purring. Weasley edged away from both of them, dragging his leg.

“Do you think I could have a look at the rat?” Black said, as evenly as Harry thought he could.

“What?” said Weasley. “What’s Scabbers got to do with it?”

“Everything,” said Black.

Weasley hesitated, then put a hand inside his robes. The rat emerged, thrashing desperately- Weasley had to seize his long bald tail to stop him from escaping. The cat stood up on Black’s leg and made a soft hissing noise. Black moved closer to Weasley. He seemed to be holding his breath as he gazed intently at the rat.

“What?” Weasley said again, holding his rat close to him, looking scared. “What’s my rat got to do with anything?”

“That’s not a rat,” croaked Black suddenly.

“What d’you mean? Of course he’s a rat-”

“No, he’s not,” Black said. “He’s a wizard. An Animagus, by the name of Peter Pettigrew.”


	26. His Father's Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Peter Pettigrew’s dead!” said Longbottom. “You killed him twelve years ago!” He pointed at Black, whose face twitched convulsively.
> 
> “I meant to,” he growled, his yellow teeth bared, “but little Peter got the better of me. Not this time, though!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: HIS FATHER’S FRIENDS

 

It took a few seconds for that statement to sink in.

“You’re mental,” Weasley said.

“Ridiculous!” said Granger faintly.

“Peter Pettigrew’s dead!” said Longbottom. “You killed him twelve years ago!” He pointed at Black, whose face twitched convulsively.  
  
“I meant to,” he growled, his yellow teeth bared, “but little Peter got the better of me. Not this time, though!”

The cat was thrown to the floor as Black lunged at Weasley. He howled with pain as Black’s weight fell on his bad leg.

At once, Longbottom’s wand was pointed at him again, and Harry’s wand was trained at Longbottom’s throat.

“Explain,” Harry said to Black.

“I can explain afterward!” snarled Black. One hand was still clawing the air as it tried to reach the rat, who was squealing like a piglet, scratching Weasley’s face and neck as he tried to escape.

“We’ve got a right to know everything,” Harry said, his voice steely quiet in his own ears.

“He’s right,” said Longbottom. “You owe us the truth.”

Black stopped struggling, though his hollowed eyes were still fixed on the rat, who was clamped tightly under Weasley’s bitten, scratched, and bleeding hands.

“All right, then,” Black said, without taking his eyes off the rat. “I’ll tell you.”

“You’re nutters, all three of you,” said Weasley shakily, looking at Granger for support. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”

He tried to heave himself up on his good leg, but Harry raised his wand again, pointing it at Weasley’s hand.

“We’re going to hear him out, Weasley,” he said quietly. “I’m going to hear how my parents died from the source. Then we’ll decide what to do with your rat.”

“There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die,” Longbottom said. “A whole street full of them.”

“They didn’t see what they thought they saw!” said Black savagely.

Longbottom looked down at Weasley, and as their eyes met, they nodded, silently.

Then Granger spoke, in a trembling, would-be calm sort of voice, as though trying to will Black to talk sensibly. “But Scabbers can’t be Pettigrew- people would know if Peter Pettigrew had been an Animagus. We did Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall. And I looked them up when I did my homework- the Ministry of Magic keeps tabs on witches and wizards who can become animals- there’s a register showing what animal they become, and their markings and things. I went and looked Professor McGonagall up on the register, and there have been only seven Animagi this century, and Pettigrew’s name wasn’t on the list.”

Harry shook his head. “You really think everyone registers with the Ministry? Think of all the criminal uses to being an animagus- and it isn’t as though it’s hard to learn how to become one. I knew how to do it by the middle of second year.”

Black smiled, a vicious, sarcastic thing, and said, “That’s James’ boy, alright. The Ministry never knew that there were three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts.”

“It started with Moony-” Black broke off.

There had been a loud creak behind him. The bedroom door had opened of its own accord. All five of them stared at it. Then Longbottom strode toward it and looked out into the landing.

“No one there,” he announced.

“This place is haunted!” said Weasley.

“It’s not,” said Black, still squinting at the door. “The Shrieking Shack was never haunted- he used to make screams and howls the villagers heard.”

“That’s where all of this starts- with Moony becoming a werewolf. None of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t been bitten. His parents were afraid that he wouldn’t be let into Hogwarts, but then Dumbledore was headmaster, and he thought, since Moony had been bitten against his will, he shouldn’t be punished. The Whomping Willow was planted the year we came to Hogwarts, as the only entrance to this house. Once a month, he was smuggled out of the castle, into this place, to transform.”

Harry couldn’t see where this story was going, but he was listening raptly all the same. The only sound apart from Black’s voice was Scabbers’s frightened squeaking.

“It hurt him- and he was separated from people to bite, so he bit and scratched himself instead. The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent spirits. Dumbledore played along, and even now they’re afraid of this house. That’s how I was able to live here- get into the school.”

“He met us our first year- me, James and Peter.” Black continued. “And he disappeared once a month, every month. Used to tell us all sorts of stories- he was sick, his Mum was sick- but we never believed him.”

Harry started. “Professor Lupin is Moony,” he said. He had to be- he could kick himself- he hadn’t noticed before that Lupin had stopped teaching every month. He hadn’t been at dinner that night, either, because it was a full moon.

Black’s mouth quirked up on one side. “Smart boy. James figured it out first, too. Remus was terrified we wouldn’t be friends with him any longer, or that we’d tell our parents- but instead, we became Animagi, so we could keep him company.”

“My dad too?” said Harry, astounded.  
  
Black hummed. “It took us three years to work out how to do it. We did most of the work- James and me- Peter needed all the help he could get. We didn’t manage it until fifth year. Then, we could each turn into a different animal at will.”

“But how did that help Professor Lupin?” said Granger, sounding puzzled.  
  
“We couldn’t keep him company as humans, so we kept him company as animals,” Black said. “A werewolf is only a danger to people. We sneaked out of the castle every month under James's Invisibility Cloak. We transformed... Peter, as the smallest, could slip beneath the Willow, and touch the knot that freezes it. We slipped down the tunnel after that and joined him. He was less dangerous with us, and pretty soon we were leaving the shack and roaming the school grounds and the village by night. James and I were big enough transformed that we were able to keep a werewolf in check. We found out more about the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade than any other student ever did- and we wrote a map. The Marauder’s Map, which we signed with our nicknames. I’m Padfoot, Peter is Wormtail, James was Prongs, and Remus is Moony.”

“What sort of animal-?” Harry began, but Granger cut him off. “That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if he’d given you the slip, and bitten somebody?”  
  
Black waved her off. “There were a few near misses, but we laughed about them afterward.”

“Is that why Snape hates him?” Longbottom asked.

“Snape?” said Black harshly.“What’s Snape got to do with it?”

“He’s a professor here,” Harry said.

“Snape was at school with us.” Black sneered. “We were in the same year, and we hated each other. Especially James. He was jealous of what a great Quidditch player he was. But he was really interested in where we went every month, and so one night he saw Remus crossing the grounds with Pomfrey. I thought it would be funny to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he’d be able to get in after him.”

“You could have killed him!” Said Granger, scandalized.

Black made a derisive noise. “It served him right,” he said. “Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to, hoping he could get us expelled.”

“So that’s why Snape doesn’t like him,” said Longbottom slowly, “because he thought he was in on the joke?”

“That’s right,” sneered a cold voice from the doorway.

Severus Snape stepped into the room, his wand pointed directly at Black.

Granger screamed. Black leapt to his feet. Harry felt as though they were all overreacting- Professor Snape had had a perfectly good reason to hate Black.  
  
Snape was slightly breathless, but his face was full of suppressed triumph. “When Mister Malfoy came to tell me Potter had been kidnapped by a very large dog,” he said, his eyes glittering. “I knew just who it was. I’ve told the headmistress again and again that Lupin’s been helping his old friend Black into the castle, and here’s the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as your hideout. Two more for Azkaban tonight,” said Snape, his eyes now gleaming fanatically. “I shall be interested to see how Minerva takes this- she was quite convinced he was harmless, a tame werewolf.”

With a roar of rage, Black started toward Snape, but Snape pointed his wand straight between Black’s eyes.

“Give me a reason,” he whispered. “Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will.”

Black stopped dead. It would have been impossible to say which face showed more hatred.

Harry stood there, paralyzed, wondering what Snape would do to him. He was no longer an innocent bystander, and now Harry knew why Snape had always hated him- he looked just like his father. 

Granger, however, took an uncertain step toward Snape and said, in a very breathless voice, “Professor Snape- it wouldn’t hurt to hear what they’ve got to say, w-would it?”

“Miss Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school,” Snape spat. “You, Longbottom, and Weasley are out-of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer. For once in your life, hold your tongue.”

“What about Potter?” Snapped Longbottom.

Harry’s stomach dropped out. 

“Mister Potter is an upstanding member of Slytherin,” said Snape, who looked viciously joyful at the expression on Black’s face, who looked like he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Who, I’m sure, will come along quietly back to the school and testify to being kidnapped by a mass-murderer.”

Harry nodded, and took a step behind Snape. 

“Vengeance is very sweet,” Snape breathed at Black. “How I hoped I would be the one to catch you-”

“The joke’s on you again, Severus,” Black snarled. “As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle,” he jerked his head at Weasley,“I’ll come quietly.”

“Up to the castle?” said Snape silkily. “I don’t think we need to go that far. All I have to do is call the Dementors once we get out of the Willow. They’ll be very pleased to see you, Black- pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay.”

What little color there was in Black’s face left it.

“You- you’ve got to hear me out,” he croaked. “The rat- look at the rat-”

But there was a mad glint in Snape’s eyes that Harry had never seen before. He seemed beyond reason. 

“Come on, all of you,” he said. 

Then, Longbottom had crossed the room in three strides and blocked the door.

“Get out of the way, Longbottom, you’re in enough trouble already,” snarled Snape. “If I hadn’t been here to save your skin-”

“Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year,” Harry said. “I’ve been alone with him loads of times, having defense lessons against the Dementors. If he was helping Black, why didn’t he just finish me off then?”

“Don’t ask me to fathom the way a werewolf’s mind works,” hissed Snape. “Get out of the way, Longbottom.”

“YOU’RE PATHETIC!” Longbottom yelled. “JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL YOU WON’T EVEN LISTEN-”

“SILENCE! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!” Snape shrieked, looking madder than ever. “I’ve just saved your neck, you should be thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well served if he’d killed you! You’d have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in James Potter’s friends- now get out of the way, or I will make you. GET OUT OF THE WAY, LONGBOTTOM!”

Before Snape could take even one step toward him, Longbottom had raised his wand. “Expelliarmus!” he yelled- except that Longbottom's wasn’t the only voice that shouted. There was a blast that made the door rattle on its hinges- Snape was lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall, then slid down it to the floor, a trickle of blood oozing from under his hair. He had been knocked out.

Harry looked around. Both Granger and Weasley had tried to disarm Snape at exactly the same time as Longbottom. Snape’s wand soared in a high arc and landed on the bed next to Granger’s cat.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” said Black, looking at Longbottom. “You should have left him to me.”

“We attacked a teacher. We attacked a teacher...” Granger whimpered, staring at the lifeless Snape with frightened eyes. “Oh, we’re going to be in so much trouble-”

“I’m still not saying I believe you,” Longbottom told Black, after a long pause.

“Then it’s time I offered you some proof,” said Black. “You, boy- give me Peter, please. Now.”

Weasley clutched the rat closer to his chest.

“Come off it,” he said weakly. “Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on Scabbers? I mean...” He looked up at Longbottom and Granger for support, “Okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat- there are millions of rats- how’s he supposed to know which one he’s after if he was locked up in Azkaban?”

Black put one of his claw-like hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show them. It was the photograph of the Weasley family that had appeared in the Daily Prophet the previous summer, and there, on Weasley’s shoulder, was the rat.

“Fudge came to inspect Azkaban last year, and he gave me his paper,” said Black. “And there was Peter, on the front page on this boy’s shoulder- I knew him at once- how many times had I seen him transform? And the caption said you would be going back to Hogwarts- to where Harry was.”

Harry felt cold all the way to his bones. “You broke out of Azkaban to protect me?” 

Black stared at him, his black eyes shining. “You’re my godson- James’ son.”

“Merlin,” said Longbottom, staring from the rat to the picture in the paper and back again. “Scabbers is missing a toe.”

“What about it?” said Weasley defiantly.

“My Gran told me the only thing they could find of Pettigrew was his finger- he cut it off.” Longbottom stared at the rat in Weasley’s hand as though he’d never seen it before.

“Just before he transformed,” said Black. “When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I’d betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself- and sped down into the sewer with the other rats.”

“Look, Scabbers probably had a fight with another rat or something! He’s been in my family for ages, right-” Said Weasley, shaking his head.

“Twelve years, in fact,” said Black. “Didn’t you ever wonder why he was living so long?”

“We- we’ve been taking good care of him!” said Weasley.

“Not looking too good at the moment, though, is he?” Black asked. “I’d guess he’s been losing weight ever since he heard I’d gotten out of Azkaban.”

“He’s been scared of that mad cat!” said Weasley, nodding toward where Granger’s cat was still purring on the bed.

“This cat isn’t mad,” said Black hoarsely. He reached out a bony hand and stroked the cat’s fluffy head. “He’s the most intelligent of his kind I’ve ever met. He recognized Peter for what he was right away. And when he met me, he knew I was no dog. It was a while before he trusted me- Finally, I managed to communicate to him what I was after, and he’s been helping me.”

“What do you mean?” breathed Granger.

“He tried to bring Peter to me, but couldn’t, so he brought me a newspaper clipping- you would all be outside, comforting Hagrid,” Black said.

“Not Potter,” said Weasley. “He was gloating with his boyfriend.”

Harry glared at him. “If it hadn’t tried to take his arm off, none of us would be in this house right now.”

Black waved his hand to get their attention again. “Peter got wind of what was going on and ran for it.” he croaked. “This cat- Crookshanks, did you call him? He told me Peter had left blood on the sheets. I supposed he bit himself- faking his own death had worked once.”  
  
At that, Longbottom jolted forward.

“And why did he fake his death?” he said furiously. “Because he knew you were about to kill him like you killed our parents! And now you’ve come to finish him off!”  
  
“Yes, I have,” said Black, with an evil look at Scabbers.

“Then I should’ve let Snape take you!” Longbottom shouted.

“Neville,” said Granger hurriedly, “don’t you see? All this time we’ve thought Black betrayed your parents, and Peter tracked him down- but it was the other way around, wasn’t it? Black was too obvious a choice, so they switched secret keepers at the last minute.” 

“But- He said that he killed them!” Said Longbottom, righteous fury shining in his eyes.

He was pointing at Black, who shook his head slowly; the sunken eyes were suddenly over bright.

“I as good as killed them,” he croaked. “I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me... I’m to blame, I know it… The night they died, I’d arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he’d gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn’t feel right. I was scared. I set out for Harry’s parents’ house straight away. And when I saw their house destroyed, and their bodies, I realized what Peter must’ve done- what I’d done.” His voice broke. He turned away.

“Ron,” said Granger, and there was a steely note in her voice Harry had never heard before. “Give him your rat.”

“What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?” Weasley asked Black tensely.

“Force him to show himself,” said Black. “If he really is a rat, it won’t hurt him.”

Weasley hesitated. Then at long last, he held out the rat and Black took him. The rat began to squeak without stopping, twisting and turning, his tiny black eyes bulging in his head.

Black had already retrieved Snape’s wand from the bed. He held the rat tightly in one hand and the wand in the other.

A flash of blue-white light erupted from his wand- for a moment, Weasley’s rat was frozen in  
midair, his small gray form twisting madly. Weasley yelled, and the rat fell and hit the floor. There was another blinding flash of light and then, a head was shooting upward from the  
ground, limbs were sprouting, and a moment later, a man was standing where the rat had been, cringing and wringing his hands. Granger’s cat was spitting and snarling on the bed, the hair on  
his back standing straight up.

He was a very short man, hardly taller than Harry and Hermione. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the shrunken appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short time, and his skin looked grubby, almost like the rat’s fur, and something of the rat lingered around his pointed nose and his very small, watery eyes.

He looked around at them all, his breathing fast and shallow. Harry saw his eyes dart to the door  
and back again.

“S-Sirius.” Even Pettigrew’s voice was squeaky. Again, his eyes darted toward the door. “My friend- my old friend.”  
  
“We’ve been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed.” Black sneered.

“Neville,” gasped Pettigrew, and Harry could see beads of sweat breaking out over his pasty face, “you don’t believe him, do you? He tried to kill me, Neville, just like he killed your parents!”  
Longbottom looked as though he were made of marble- he didn’t even twitch.

“He’s come to try and kill me again!” Pettigrew squeaked suddenly, pointing at Black, and Harry saw that he used his middle finger, because his index was missing. “He killed Lily and James, Frank and Alice, and now he’s going to kill me too. You’ve got to help me!”

Black’s face looked more skull-like than ever as he stared at Pettigrew with his fathomless eyes.

“No one’s going to try and kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,” said Longbottom, finally.

“Sorted things out?” squealed Pettigrew, looking wildly about him once more, eyes taking in the boarded windows and, again, the only door. “I knew he’d come after me! I knew he’d be back for me! I’ve been waiting for this for twelve years!”

“You knew he was going to break out of Azkaban?” asked Granger, her brow furrowed. “When nobody has ever done it before?”

“He’s got dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!” Pettigrew shouted shrilly. “How else did he get out of there? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!”  
Black started to laugh, a horrible, mirthless laugh that filled the whole room. 

“Voldemort, teach me tricks?” he said.

Pettigrew flinched as though Black had brandished a whip at him. 

“What, scared to hear your old master’s name?” said Black. “I don’t blame you, Peter. His lot aren’t very happy with you, are they?”

“Don’t know what you mean, Sirius —” muttered Pettigrew, his breathing faster than ever. His whole face was shining with sweat now.

“You haven’t been hiding from me for twelve years,” said Black. “You’ve been hiding from Voldemort’s old supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter- They all think you’re dead, or you’d have to answer to them- I’ve heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Longbottoms’ on your information, and Voldemort met his downfall there. And not all Voldemort’s supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out there, biding their time, pretending they’ve seen the error of their ways. If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter —”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about!” said Pettigrew again, more shrilly than ever. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up at them. “You don’t believe this- this madness, Neville-”

“If you were innocent, why would you want to spend twelve years as a rat?” asked Granger.

“Innocent, but scared!” squealed Pettigrew. “If Voldemort’s supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban- the spy, Sirius Black!”

Black’s face contorted.

“How dare you,” he growled, sounding suddenly like the bear-sized dog he had been. “I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter- I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you? It used to be us, me and Remus and James.”

Pettigrew wiped his face again- he was nearly panting for breath. “Me, a spy- must be out of your mind- I never- don’t know how you can say such a-”

“Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backward. “I thought it was the perfect plan, a bluff. Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you. It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could get him the Longbottoms.”

Pettigrew was muttering distractedly- Harry caught words like “far-fetched” and “lunacy,” but he couldn’t help paying more attention to the ashen color of Pettigrew’s face and the way his eyes continued to dart toward the windows and door.

“Sir?” said Granger timidly. “Can- can I say something?”

Black hummed, which Harry imagined was the best Granger was going to get out of him.

“Well- Scabbers- I mean, this man- he’s been sleeping in Neville's dormitory for three years. If he’s working for You-Know-Who, how come he never tried to hurt Neville before now?”

“There!” said Pettigrew shrilly, pointing at her with his maimed hand. “Thank you! You see? I have never hurt a hair on Neville’s head! Why should I?”

“I’ll tell you why,” said Black. “Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort’s been in hiding for fifteen years, they say he’s half dead. You weren’t about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore’s nose, for a wreck of a wizard who’d lost all of his power, were you? You’d want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the playground before you went back to him, wouldn’t you? Why else did you find a wizard family to take you in? Keeping an ear out for news, weren’t you, Peter? Just in case your old protector regained strength, and it was safe to rejoin him. And then he did, didn’t he Peter? If I hadn’t been here, scaring you stiff, what would you have done to that boy? To either of them?”

Pettigrew opened his mouth and closed it several times. He seemed to have lost the ability to talk.

“Er- Mr. Black- Sirius?” said Granger.

  
Black jumped at being addressed like that and stared at Granger as though he had never seen anything quite like her. Apparently, ‘sir’ was less jarring to him than ‘Mr. Black.’

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn’t use Dark Magic?”

“Thank you!” gasped Pettigrew, nodding frantically at her. “Exactly! Precisely what I-”

But Black silenced him with a look. 

“I don’t know how I did it,” he said slowly. “I think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That wasn’t a happy thought, so the Dementors couldn’t suck it out of me, but it kept me sane and knowing who I am helped me keep my powers, so when it all became too much, I could transform in my cell and become a dog. Dementors can’t see, you know.” He swallowed. “They feel their way toward people by feeding off their emotions. They could tell that my feelings were less human, less complex when I was a dog, but they thought, of course, that I was losing my mind like everyone else in there, so it didn’t trouble them. But I was weak, very weak, and I had no hope of driving them away from me without a wand.” He swallowed audibly.

“But then I saw Peter in that picture, and I realized he was at Hogwarts with Harry, perfectly positioned to act, if one hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength again.” He shook his head. “I thought he and Neville would be friends- his parents were in Gryffindor, it made sense he would be too.”

Pettigrew was shaking his head, mouthing noiselessly, but staring all the while at Black as though hypnotized.  
  
“I was sure he was ready to strike at the moment he could be sure of allies, to deliver the last Potter to them, along with the boy who defeated Voldemort. If he gave them Neville, who’d dare say he’d betrayed Lord Voldemort? He’d be welcomed back with honors. So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who knew Peter was still alive.”

“It was as if someone had lit a fire in my head, and the dementors couldn’t destroy it. It wasn’t a happy feeling- it was an obsession- but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog. It’s so much harder for them to sense animal emotions that they were confused. I was thin, very thin- thin enough to slip through the bars. I swam as a dog back to the mainland, journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. I’ve been living in this house ever since.”

He looked at Harry, who had to force himself not look away.

“Believe me,” croaked Black. “Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them.”

And Harry, whose entire world had shifted on its axis- but not really, because none of this changed who he was- didn’t say anything. He looked away.

“You see!” Pettigrew had fallen to his knees as though Harry believed him- He shuffled forward on his knees, groveling, his hands clasped in front of him as though praying. “Harry- you kind boy- you knew I was your parents' friend- you wouldn’t believe him.” He reached out for Harry’s robes, and Harry kicked out at him. Pettigrew recoiled.

“I don’t _care_.” Harry hissed. “Whether you betrayed them or he did, it doesn’t _matter_. _They’re dead_.”

Black looked as though Harry had spit in his face.

Longbottom pushed Harry back. “I believe you.”

“No!” Pettigrew threw himself to the ground, his entire body shaking as though Longbottom had just issued his death sentence.

“Ron, haven’t I been a good friend, a good pet?” Pettigrew asked, crawling to the foot of the bed. You won’t let them kill me, Ron, will you? You’re on my side, aren’t you?”

But Weasley was staring at Pettigrew with the utmost revulsion. “I let you sleep in my bed!” he said.

“Kind boy, kind master.” Pettigrew crawled toward the head of the four-poster. “You won’t let them do it. I was your rat, I was a good pet.”

“If you made a better rat than a human, it’s not much to boast about, Peter,” said Black harshly.

Weasley, going still paler with pain, wrenched his bloody leg out of Pettigrew’s reach. Pettigrew turned on his knees, staggered forward, and seized the hem of Granger’s robes.

“Sweet girl, clever girl, you won’t let them. Help me!” He pleaded.

Granger pulled her robes out of Pettigrew’s clutching hands and backed away against the wall, looking horrified.

Pettigrew knelt, trembling uncontrollably, and turned his head slowly toward Longbottom. “Neville, Neville, you look just like your mother, just like her...Neville, Alice wouldn’t have wanted me killed, I used to help her with her Charms work, we were friends! Alice would have understood, Neville, she would have shown me mercy!”

Black strode forward, seized Pettigrew’s shoulders, and threw him backward onto the floor. He sat there, twitching with terror, staring up at him.

“You sold Lily and James to Voldemort,” said Black, who was shaking too. “Do you deny it?”

Pettigrew burst into tears. It was horrible to watch, like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on  
the floor.

“Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord, you have no idea- he has weapons you can’t imagine- I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me-”  
“DON’T LIE!” bellowed Black. “YOU’D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!”

“He- he was taking over everywhere!” gasped Pettigrew. “Wh-what was there to be gained by refusing him?”  
“What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?” said Black, with a terrible fury in his face. “Only innocent lives, Peter!”

“You don’t understand!” whined Pettigrew. “He would have killed me, Sirius!”

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” roared Black. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!”  
Black raised his wand.

“You should have realized,” he said quietly, “if Voldemort didn’t kill you, I would. Goodbye, Peter.”

Granger covered her face with her hands and turned to the wall.  
  
“NO!” Longbottom yelled. He ran forward, placing himself in front Pettigrew, facing Black’s wand. “You can’t kill him,” he said breathlessly. “You can’t.”

Black looked staggered. “Neville, this piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents,” Black snarled. “This cringing bit of filth would have seen you die too, without turning a hair. You heard him. His own stinking skin meant more to him than Harry’s whole family, and yours as well.”

“I know,” Longbottom panted. “We’ll take him up to the castle. We’ll hand him over to the Dementors. He can go to Azkaban, but don’t kill him.”

“Neville!” gasped Pettigrew, and he flung his arms around Longbottom’s knees. “You- thank you- it’s more than I deserve- thank you-”

“Get off me,” Longbottom spat, throwing Pettigrew’s hands off him in disgust. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing for the innocent man who went to jail for twelve years.”

No one moved or made a sound except Pettigrew, whose breath was coming in wheezes as he clutched his chest. Black looked at Harry.  
  
“You’re the only other person who has the right to decide, Harry,” said Black. “Think what he did.”

“Let Longbottom decide. It doesn’t change anything,” Harry repeated.

Pettigrew was still wheezing behind Longbottom.

“Alright,” said Black. “Stand aside, Neville.”

Longbottom hesitated.

“I’m going to tie him up,” said Black. “That’s all.”

Longbottom stepped out of the way. Thin cords of rope shot from Black’s wand this time, and the next moment, Pettigrew was wriggling on the floor, bound and gagged.

“But if you transform, Peter,” growled Black, “I’ll kill you. You agree, Neville?”

Longbottom looked down at the pitiful figure on the floor and nodded so that Pettigrew could see him.

-

 

Harry had never been part of a stranger group. Granger’s cat led the way down the stairs, with Pettigrew and Snape, who’d been tied back to back, being levitated along in front of Black. Harry followed behind Black, and Granger, Weasley, and Longbottom walked behind him, sending him suspicious looks, as though the whole night had been part of some grand Slytherin scheme.

  
Getting back into the tunnel was surprisingly difficult with two people being levitated, and Black had to turn them sideways to manage it. Harry could see them edging awkwardly along the tunnel, right behind the bushy cat who was leading the way. Harry went right after Black and tried not to think of the last time his robes had been that dirty. 

“You know what this means?” Black said abruptly to Harry as they made their slow progress along the tunnel. “Turning Pettigrew in?”

“You’re free,” said Harry.

“Yes,” said Black. “But I’m also- I’m your godfather.”

“I know,” said Harry. All of a sudden, he felt incredibly tired.

“Well... your parents appointed me your guardian,” said Black stiffly, “if anything happened to them.”

Harry felt sick. His parents had done too little, too late.

“I’ll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle,” said Black. “But, well, think about it. Once my name’s cleared, if you wanted a different home-” He cut himself off.

“I don’t live with my aunt and uncle,” Harry said, very quietly, and refused to talk about it anymore.

They didn’t speak again until they had reached the end of the tunnel. Granger’s cat darted up first- he had evidently pressed his paw to the knot on the trunk, because Pettigrew and Snape floated upward without any sound of savaging branches.

Black went up after them, then stood back for the four of them to pass. At last, all of them were out. The grounds were very dark- the only light came from the distant windows of the castle.

Without a word, they set off, Pettigrew still wheezing and occasionally whimpering.

When they reached the doors of the school, Harry felt as though he could have melted right into the floor, he was so relieved.

Once Professor McGonagall saw them, she sent Harry and Weasley off to the hospital wing, and wouldn’t hear any arguments over it, although Weasley was really the only one arguing. Even though it was nearly eleven o’clock at night, Draco was in the hospital wing in nearly ten minutes, along with Lord and Lady Malfoy, who McGonagall had floo-called, along with Weasley’s parents, who arrived nearly as fast.

Draco looked sick with worry when he got there, even in front of his parents, and when he saw Harry sitting in one of the hospital cots, dirty and scratched up but relatively whole, he sank into the chair next to Harry’s cot as though his body couldn’t hold him up any longer.

“Next year,” Draco told him, “I’m putting a tracking spell on you, so that things like this will stop happening.”

Harry gave him a watery laugh. “Do you promise?” He asked.

 

-

 

Harry was discharged from the hospital wing nearly immediately, so he was able to sleep in his own bed. When he woke up the next morning, though, it felt as though it was to a different world.  
Suddenly, there were no dementors at Hogwarts, and the new Daily Prophet headline was “Pettigrew lives- Black an innocent victim of a corrupt justice system.” Draco’s parents were strangely relieved when Draco told them that Harry still wanted nothing to do with Black, and Parkinson very solemnly told Harry that she would have missed him if he’d died.

Harry had completely forgotten, with everything that had happened, there was a Hogsmeade visit that day, and was extremely excited to go down to the village without having to pass the dementors. Crabbe and Goyle were very relieved to see him, and Crabbe discreetly told him that Draco had been in a mood so horrible, the third year boys had all had to seek refuge in the other dorms, for fear of Draco hexing them, or throwing a vase at their head.  
  
The sweltering heat and the end of the exams meant that everyone was taking full advantage of the Hogsmeade visit, and so Harry was able to lose himself in the chatter of the Three Broomsticks. They were serving cold butterbeer, due to the temperature, and Harry couldn’t remember a time he was so relieved to just be normal. No one expected him to save the world, there were no assassination attempts against him, all he had to do in life was love his best friend.

By the time they reached the castle, everyone had apparently heard Lupin was a werewolf, and more importantly, he’d been sacked as the Defense Again the Dark Arts teacher. Harry had never been more pleased to see ‘the curse’ at work. If he could help it, he was going to avoid anyone who’d been friends with his parents from then on.

The exam results came out on the last day of term, and Harry was particularly incensed to see that Granger had still gotten top marks- she’d taken Muggle Studies and gotten a one-hundred and twenty percent. Still, Harry had gotten perfect marks in all his classes, and Crabbe and Goyle had managed to pass all of their exams with Harry’s help. Draco had never really needed Harry’s help to succeed, but he had gotten nearly perfect marks in every subject- apparently, Draco wasn’t a good enough liar, because he’d only gotten a ninety-five on his Divination exam.

  
In a particularly strange turn of events, Harry deciding to stand behind Professor Snape in the shrieking shack had apparently canceled out Snape’s hatred for his father, and his behavior toward Harry over the last week of school was extremely pleasant- Harry would even go so far as to say nice, if Professor Snape was capable of it. On the other hand, Longbottom seemed to have replaced him as Snape’s replacement for Harry’s father, and every time he saw Longbottom, a muscle twitched unpleasantly at the corner of Snape’s thin mouth, and he was constantly flexing his fingers, as though itching to place them around Longbottom’s throat.

Slytherin House, meanwhile, largely thanks to their spectacular performance in the Quidditch Cup, had finally broken the Gryffindor’s winning streak, and they won the House championship for the first time in three years. That meant that the end of term feast took place amid decorations of emerald and silver, and everyone in their house passed by where they were sitting to congratulate Draco again on his amazing catch. 

As the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station the next morning, Harry found that suddenly thinking about marrying Draco didn’t put a strange twisting feeling in his stomach. Somewhere in the Shrieking Shack, Harry had realized that Draco was the most important person in his life- and that he wouldn’t change that.

“It’s the Quidditch World Cup this year,” Draco reminded Harry on the train ride home. “We’ll be sitting in the Minister’s box, of course. Poor Crabbe and Goyle will have to go and watch from the stands.” He said, as though that were the worst fate in the world. Harry laughed.

Draco scowled at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “Don’t ever change, Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE. 
> 
> it's been two years since i started this fic, so i just wanted to thank everyone who's stuck with me all this time. also, since i finished this book in like three days, comments are greatly appreciated.


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